


Gold Sick

by mitsukai613



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gold Sickness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After reclaiming the mountain, Thorin falls under the thrall of his gold, and Bilbo is willing to do anything to restore his dearest friend to his former self.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I'm so sorry this isn't a new Unexpected Love chapter; I just got so swamped this week that I couldn't find the time to write it. I just happened to have this lying around on my computer, and decided to post it since I didn't want to leave you all totally high and dry this week. Anyway, I hope you all can enjoy it at least a little despite that, and if you like it, it might actually get finished one day.

I watched him from the stairs, his tired eyes staring desperately over piles of gold and gems for a stone I knew was not there. Guilt bit at me, even as the others, who’d been granted a short reprieve of the search to eat and rest, gazed at me almost pityingly.

                “He needs rest,” I whispered, and they nodded. Their expressions… when we got here, when the dragon was slain, I’d thought, however foolishly, that our troubles would end. I’d thought the dwarves would have their chance at happiness. Now, though… now it was a different sort of trouble we faced, and not one we could face with a blade or a trick as every other. Thorin was… he was going mad, it was simple to see. The dragon sickness was overcoming him as it had his family before him.

                “He’ll not take it,” Bofur said, and though in him I could see worry, I saw fear as well. In a way, I shared it; the Thorin I saw there, in the treasure, was not the Thorin who had come to my home however long before. This Thorin seemed almost… violent, at times, his expression dark and dangerous, and never before had I heard him declare himself king as he had hours before, as if we didn’t consider him such. Not that the others were unaffected, of course; I saw the stares they settled on the treasure pile, how hypnotized by it they sometimes looked, but none were quite so bad as Thorin; they, at least, I could still recognize as my friends. That even Fili and Kili seemed to suffer from it, to become something beyond the carefree youths I’d met at the beginning of the journey, both shocked and pained me. I’d never imagined that _this_ , of all things, would cause the most pain on this adventure. I suppose the worst part was that I couldn’t seem to do anything for it.

                “Why has he…,” I tried, and Bofur only sighed.

                “We all knew it would be a risk. His family… this is far from a new suffering for those of Durin’s blood. Those like myself, we feel it, of course, the gold lust, but it isn’t so… severe. For Thorin, this place is as much a poison as anything. With the Arkenstone missing… I don’t imagine it would make things much better, but he’ll still seek it.” I licked my lips softly, staring over the massive hoard, the smell of dragon lingering, dry and ancient, over the room. Thorin’s hands raked through the gold with a certain overdone pleasure, eyes glinting with steely obsession.

                “This would not cease if he found it?” Bofur shook his head.

                “I don’t believe so, no. If anything, I expect it would only make this worse faster.” I swallowed thickly; the stone was a weight I didn’t want, wrapped in my jacket. I wished it had never been pulled from the earth to begin with, the cursed thing. I wished the dragon had died earlier, that this hoard had been ransacked until not even a coin was left. I wished that I did not save the lives of these dwarves who had become so dear to me only to watch the best of them succumb to a sickness with no cure.

                “Is there any way to put a stop to it?” I asked, soft, and Bofur’s hand squeezed softly, kind, warm eyes fixing themselves upon mine.

                “I fear there isn’t. Perhaps you might try to speak with him? He’d begun to cherish your advice, by journey’s end.” That, perhaps, was an exaggeration, but by then I felt it my best and only option. Everyone else seemed to be trying to keep their distance, as though he would cut them down with no provocation at all, and while he had indeed changed very obviously, I didn’t believe he would ever do that. I walked slowly down the steps to his side with nothing but a nod, and settled my hand on his shoulder. I felt almost no warmth; the robe he wore was thick and fine, but seemed too heavy. He jolted nonetheless, jerking towards me, and I offered a small smile. He didn’t return it.

                “Halfling?” he asked, quiet and sounding perhaps a bit lost. “I asked that you and the others go rest for a time. I will search alone for now.” I shook my head, kneeling beside him in front of the gargantuan pile.

                “Come rest with us. You haven’t slept since we arrived, Thorin; what good is a king with bleary eyes?” I teased, and his mouth twitched, but still he didn’t smile.

                “I am not truly king until the Arkenstone is in my hands.” Cursed, cursed thing.

                “You’ve been a king to me from the moment you arrived upon my doorstep, stubborn dwarf,” I mumbled, taking him by the arm and trying to drag him to his feet. He remained resolutely where he was.

                “A hobbit’s allegiance is all well and good, but worth little in the ruling of dwarves.” I chuckled softly, trying again to drag him up.

                “Your kin have felt the same, Thorin.” A sudden, harsh light darkened his eyes as he jerked from my hold, hand taking my shirtsleeve harshly and yanking me nearer to him. When he spoke, his voice was a husk, a deadly shadow of itself.

                “My _kin_ plan only to steal from me, if I leave here,” he hissed, cold eyes flashing over to Bofur, who waited for me on the stairs, as the others had left when I began making my way to Thorin’s side.

                “Thorin! Why in the world would you say that? Not a one of them would dare take something of yours; you ought to know that. They care far too much for you.” He snarled, half-shoving me away.

                “They care for nothing but themselves, now that I’ve gotten them here. Go, sleep, or stay here and do the same. I care little.” He turned from me, an obvious dismissal, but I wouldn’t stand for it. I wasn’t leaving until I got something more than that out of him, some agreement to rest. I almost chuckled to myself; if only the hobbit I was before I met the dwarves could see me now.

                “Why don’t I stay? I’ll look over your treasure while you rest, alright? Keep it safe for you.” Oddly enough, he didn’t even look suspicious. I waved a hand to Bofur as a signal that he’d likely be better off leaving, and he did so.

                “You’ve done much these past days, burglar. You need it more than I.” I shook my head, careful to keep the gesture light and easy.

                “I’ve rested plenty recently, Thorin. Please trust me, won’t you? I’ll make certain everything remains exactly as you’ve left it. Surely you don’t think I’m so weak that I couldn’t stand guard a few hours whilst you sleep?” Slowly, very slowly, he shrugged off his robe and coat and lay them on top of the gold, slowly stretching atop them until he was comfortable. Within moments after that, he fell into a deep sleep, tense lines of his face relaxing into something close to normalcy. I settled beside him, knees to my chest, and imagined him waking up and being as he was before. I knew it was foolish even before he awoke and the first thing he did was glance around the room and ensure that all was as it had been.

* * *

 

                He didn’t trust me. He didn’t trust any of us, not anymore. I realized that the moment he strode suddenly around the door, myself glancing into my hand at an acorn I’d found in Beorn’s garden, and he asked immediately what I held, as if I’d be foolish enough to gaze at the Arkenstone in so obvious a place. I held it out to him carefully, palm open and wide, and he froze, brow furrowing.   

                “I picked it up in Beorn’s garden.” Still he stared, and in his eyes, suddenly, something softened and he was the Thorin I knew again. I almost froze myself; was it true?  Was the gold’s hold on him broken so easily? I almost felt my eyes well. I hadn’t really realized just how much I’d missed him.

                “You’ve carried it all this way?” he asked, voice quiet and familiar and the man I knew again at last, and I wanted to hold him tightly, desperately, to never let him go back into the treasury again. That moment, I actually felt hope again, however futile it may seem to one on the outside.

                “I’m going to plant it in my garden in Bag End,” I told him, my own voice equally soft as though I feared a noise too loud would return him to his prior state. I could scarcely even bring myself to do more than peek up at him for fear that he would suddenly fall under the thrall of the gold again. He smiled easily, amused and teasing and so like himself that I wanted to weep and cling to him like a fauntling.

                “It’s a poor prize to take back to the Shire,” he whispered, so very warm.

                “One day it’ll grow,” I answered, offering a barely there smile myself and praying that the moment would last an eternity, that everything would be alright, that the happiness I’d imagined for this time would finally come to be. When, during my pause, he didn’t return suddenly to the gold sickness, I grew a little more confident. Perhaps… perhaps that thrall could be broken after all. Perhaps he had come back to us. “And every time I look at it, I’ll remember. Remember everything that happened, the good, the bad… and how lucky I am that I made it home.” I finally managed a longer, more complete smile, and he grinned in response, his eyes the eyes I knew again, a strong leader who was never cruel, and I felt, for a moment, like I was home again. I should have known it wouldn’t last, that someone like me, a silly hobbit with a silly acorn, couldn’t possibly break the hold of something like that gold, at least not for long.

                Not even a moment had passed before Dwalin came to tell us of the people from Laketown filtering into what little remained of Dale, and immediately Thorin called us all to the entrance hall. I thought, for a moment, that we were there to welcome them, until I saw the feverish light in his eyes once again and he had the rest of the company begin blocking the gaping entryway with stones.

                “Thorin?” I questioned softly, but he only shook his head, taking up a stone himself and aiding the rest. I could only stand there, watching quietly and fearfully. Not even when Kili, wanting to help them as much as I, spoke up could he be dissuaded from his desperate, obsessive protection of the destroyed city. His voice was ice where once it had been fire. I still felt almost like weeping.

When we realized the morning after that an army of elves had come in the night and surrounded us, when I realized that even then Thorin would do nothing, I felt a desolation unlike anything I’d ever known before. Was he truly lost? When Bard came to negotiate, to ask only for what he’d been promised to stop war, and Thorin refused him, I thought he surely was. The man I’d known… the man I’d known would not have forsaken his honor so. The man I’d known would have given what he’d sworn. He would not have said that it was none of my _business_ , though I’d made the same bargain as he, though he’d made a liar of me as soon as he refused to keep his word. He would not have spoken so coldly when he said not to underestimate dwarves, something that once might’ve been spoken in jest, with a slight smile upon his face. He would not have been so eager for war.

                On that evening, the dwarves began readying themselves for a battle they had no need to fight, and I tried to stay away, unwilling to be involved with it, with the needless bloodshed of the finest friends I’d ever known. Thorin, though, would not allow it; he called me to him, something gleaming silver in his hands.

                “You’re going to need this,” he murmured, low and rough. He held the object out to me, eyes serious no matter the darkness, and I stared as I at last noticed what the object truly was; some sort of mail coat, as if I’d be partaking in the fighting. “Put it on,” he ordered when he saw me only staring at him, and I felt my mouth twitch worriedly as I glanced from the mail to him. His gaze was hard and firm, though, unyielding, and immediately I shrugged my jacket off.

He deserved my compliance at least in this, I thought, after all I’d done, all I would do. Perhaps I could drag him fully from the sickness yet, if only I offered friendship without reservation, if only I pretended as though things were as they had always been.

                “This vest is made of silver steel; mithril, it was called by my forebears,” he whispered as my coat fell. He gazed at me through the thin material, eyes as serious and firm as ever, and honestly, my nerves were singing at the intensity of the look. Almost to get away, I picked up the bottom of it and began putting it on as he clutched the shoulders, and still, still he spoke. “No blade can pierce it.” The determination, the surety, of the words startled me a little as he finally released it so I could finish putting it on. He still gazed at me, stepping a bit nearer to me silently. I cleared my throat softly.

                “I look absurd,” I tried, knowing that to be true; the mithril coat hung far too large on me, sleeves drooping to my elbows and collar generously wide. “I’m not a warrior, I’m a hobbit!” I told him, as if he hadn’t yet learned that. He didn’t smile, his eyes still as hard and dark and solid as ever. The gold sickness, I could tell, held him firmly now.

                “It is a gift. A token of our friendship.” And if only he knew how misplaced that was. Guilt gnawed me bitterly, my fingers rubbing the bottom edge of the coat almost self-consciously. “True friends are hard to come by. I have been blind, but now I begin to see. I am betrayed.”

                He took me almost roughly by the shoulder and led me away, voice even lower than before, dark, cold eyes flickering for only a moment to the company. I thought for a moment that perhaps he suspected me after all, perhaps he had given me the shirt in an elaborate attempt to make the reveal that he knew what I’d done. I swallowed thickly.

                “Betrayed?” I asked him, and still his eyes were firm upon me, yet bright with fever.

                “The Arkenstone,” he hissed, as if that explained all. “One of them has taken it.” I took in a deep, harsh breath, my eyes closing slightly. The company? Why in the world… why would he distrust them so, when all of them loved him so well? When… when I was the one who would betray him, the one who had taken it, no matter how noble my reason? “One of them is false.” His voice was sibilant and low, still a hiss, so close to the dragon himself that I felt near enough to sick.

                “Thorin,” I tried, desperate, “the quest is fulfilled. You’ve won the mountain. Is that not enough?” He almost didn’t even seem to hear me, as though what I said filtered through him like nothing.

                “Betrayed by my own kin.” He looked so, so hurt, so sad, as if the betrayal were true, as if they’d all been plotting against him from the moment we’d begun the journey. Perhaps, in his madness, he believed that they had.

                “You… you made a promise,” I spoke, still desperate to break through to him, “to the people of Laketown. Now is this treasure truly worth more than your honor? Our honor, Thorin, I was also there; I gave my word.” He smiled again, very faint, a sparse curve of his lips. He slid the slightest bit nearer to me, eyes burning into only me now.

                “For that I am grateful, but the treasure in this mountain does not belong to the people of Laketown.” He spat the words, still frozen, lips curling in a faint sneer. Then, though, it seemed as if he lost all his breath, his eyes closing for a mere moment as if he needed to gather himself. “This gold… is ours, and ours alone. All my life… I will not part with a single coin. Not one piece of it.” I’d never heard him sound that way, so cruel, so separate, and knew that the gold sickness had truly, truly taken him as the dwarves marched by between us. I was nearly sick where I stood.

* * *

 

                Not an hour later, I sought Thorin again and found him in the treasury, as was expected. Still his fingers raked through the coins, the soft rattle the only noise beyond his breath in the vast, cavernous chamber. He heard me immediately on the stairs, though, and whipped around to see me. His face softened the slightest bit, and he nodded his greeting.

                “Come to share in it, Bilbo?” he asked me, and it felt so strange, him using my name when he was so very far from the Thorin I knew.

                “I… suppose so,” I said, faint, and he held out his arms. I moved towards him, slow, cautious, frightened, but he did nothing but stretch up and clap me on the shoulder and pull me to stand beside him once I reached the place where he was settled.

                “Bilbo,” he whispered, “the only one that I may yet trust. The rest of them are _treacherous_. They would take what is _mine_ without thought or regret. You, though… what innocence that face shows. With you, I do not mind sharing my treasure.” I swallowed convulsively, edging away, but he didn’t even seem to notice, really. His fingers dug compulsively through the treasures, slowly, slowly letting them drip from his hands.

                “They fought for this place as you did,” I murmured, and he hummed quietly.

                “And so they will have their shares. They would take more than they are owed, however. They would take of my _greatest treasures_ as though they had any right.” I sighed, shaking my head and reaching out to settle a hand on his arm. He only chuckled, breathy and faint as if he couldn’t seem to find the air he needed.

                “I’m sure the Arkenstone will be found, Thorin; the company cares far too much for you to have taken it.” The chuckle turned bitter and dark, his hand moving to run over the thin, expertly linked rings of the mithril he’d bestowed upon me.

                “It is not only the Arkenstone I fear has or will be stolen, burglar.” The hand moved up, settling curved over my cheek, stroking my jaw. I almost felt unable to breathe. “You truly are so very small, Halfling. Far too small to protest their thievery.” I swallowed, thinking to jerk away, but honestly, the look in his eyes… I was frightened.

                “Thorin,” I tried, perhaps to call his foolishness what it was, but he only chuckled, shaking his head.

                “Hush, it is well; I know you have yet had no need. Still, I fear the attempt. Perhaps the toymaker will be the first to try; he has always seemed to have issues with knowing his _place_. His family as well, of course; I pray they will soon decide to return to their Blue Mountains.” I could scarce believe them, the cold words spilling from him then, the cruel thoughts towards those who’d been willing to give everything so that he could reclaim this place and his throne.

                “I can’t _believe_ you would say that, Thorin! We would not have gotten here without a single member of the company.” He tilted his head, chuckling.

                “Your loyalty is refreshing, I will admit, but undeserved. I speak only truth, and you would do well to see such. Were they to try to take you, you could not fight. We are all of us larger and stronger than you; it is only your swiftness that would give you means to escape should one of them turn.” I sighed.

                “They would do nothing to me, Thorin.” I said it with surety, and felt as much truly; it was Thorin himself I was growing to worry for my safety around. He only laughed, but it was not a free laugh of joy. I could scarcely remember that sound, by then.

                “So you believe, but they are wicked things who would only take the prizes of their king. Even my dearest _friends_ , even my _sister sons_. Perhaps they are the worst of all; I have often seen them gazing upon you, your fair face, even now that I have given you this.” Again he moved to stroke the mithril coat, expression full of shadows and cruelty. I shuddered. This was _not_ Thorin; I tried desperately to remember that. This was _not_ he who had stormed into my home so very long before, eyes ablaze with passion. This person who stood before me now was a thrall to gold, as good as the dragon himself.

                “They’re my friends as well,” I told him, patting his hand with my own, hoping against hope that he’d see reason. He sighed almost sadly, shaking his head and turning his hand to squeeze mine.

                “So you believe now. I ask only that you are careful, else you see their true natures. Darkness dwells in the hearts of dwarves just as it does in those of men and elves,” he hissed, and though the words were directed towards our companions, I saw them true mostly in him. He pulled me nearer to him, hand curling slowly around my hip. “You, my dear burglar, are my _ghivashel_ ; perhaps the men and the elves and my kin will try to steal all else from me, but you… you, and the Arkenstone, I will not let them have.” I blinked. The hand at my hip squeezed as he settled his head against my chest, warm and heavy. I stiffened, jolted, but he didn’t seem to notice.

                “Thorin, I am not a piece of your treasure to be hoarded! I am a hobbit,” I said, again as if he were unaware. He chuckled, and I felt him nod. He sounded, then, a bit more himself, but still there was a strange darkness to his tone that I didn’t recognize to name.

                “Indeed you are; a very valuable, very special hobbit. I’ve seen their covetous eyes upon you, more and more with every passing day. The men as well, I saw how they stared at you, even the fool Bard who they hail as dragon slayer. So, I’ve draped you in mithril; would only that we did not face these troubles now so that I could give you more of what you deserve. This,” he said, tapping the shirt again, “this is but the start, given first because of its practicality in the coming days, because I would not see you dead. When my claim here is settled, I shall drape you in gems and gold until you glitter like mithril yourself.” He sounded so… earnest; he trusted me so, and still I despised myself for knowingly betraying that, no matter the sickness he suffered. I let my own hands settle in his hair and he almost seemed to sigh with pleasure.

                “Please, you know I’ve little need of such.” I glanced down and found his eyes closed, his mouth curled in a smile.

                “After you so sweetly threw yourself before me and saved my life, Bilbo, I thought often of how I might repay you. I thought of the day when you might step into Erebor at my side, when I might ask you to stay, when I might tell you of my affections for you. I spoke of it often, with the rest. Even then I saw the jealousy in their eyes,” he spat. “If only I had known it. They, though… they do not feel for you as I do. I want only your happiness, and so, I offer you everything.” He pulled me nearer still, softly tugging me down to sit beside him. His head moved from my chest to my neck, the soft, warm puffs of his breath fluttering over the skin.   

“My happiness?” I mumbled, and he nodded once, serious.

“I would give anything for it, yes. Your happiness and your hand.” I realized suddenly the meaning he’d been trying to get across, then, that his “affections” were more than friendship. With the realization came an almost painfully cruel thought; perhaps I could use that to avoid war. I flinched at the mere idea; I would never have considered such before I’d left on this mad quest.

Perhaps the worst part was that if he had been the Thorin I knew, I would have felt the same; I had for some time. I’d felt that for the true Thorin, however, the noble wanderer who would have done anything for those he called friend, the slightly rough but truly kind dwarf I’d saved, not the shell who stood before me then. I wondered… if I could but stay war, if I could but keep the Arkenstone from him long enough, if I could but distract him, could it return the dwarf I missed so dearly? I knew well enough that he’d likely care as little for me then as he had before this mess, but at least I’d have my friend back. Even if I remained unforgiven for what I would now do… it would, at least, be better than forcing him to suffer so.

“Then treat with the men and the elves, Thorin. That is all I want of you; with that, I’ll be happy, and if… if you truly want my hand, you’ll have it.” His brows furrowed, his hands tightened, but I could see, at least, a willingness to listen on his face that had not been there before.

“You would have me give away our treasure?” he asked, and I ran my hand through his thick hair, feeling dirt and oil where he’d not bothered to take advantage of the calmness to clean the journey’s mess from himself.

“Not all of it,” I said, “Only enough to avoid war. Give the men of Laketown my share; I’ve no need of it, after all. As for Thranduil, I imagine he wants only those artifacts related to his people.” His gaze flashed over to a large pile of smallish, clear stones that looked a bit similar to diamonds, at the center of which lay an exceptionally pretty silver neckless inlaid with the same stones.

“Truly?” he asked. “That is all you wish of me? Only that, and I will have your hand?” I nodded. This was what had to be done. Unless I did this, there would be war. I would not allow the company to suffer more when I could prevent it. Perhaps… perhaps I could even use the time to settle the affair with the Arkenstone, to find a place to hide it, or get rid of it some other way, so the suffering it had caused could be made to end. I nodded

“You will, Thorin. I do not want war,” I said, and, though many moments passed, he at last nodded.

“I’ll do what you ask of me. Come; we shall tell the others, yes? And then Balin and I will ride to their camp to treat. Would you like to accompany us?” It would be nice to leave the mountain for a time; the darkness, and the lack of sky above me, had become a bit… oppressive.

“I would,” I said, and he nodded, faint smile curling his lips.

“That is well. Come,” he said, standing and pulling me along with him. Our steps were quick but light, and while there was some displeasure on his face, some discomfort, he was at least walking, he was at least planning to treat, and that… well, it was better than it had been an hour before, surely.

The others jolted when we arrived in the front hall, in any case, their expressions akin to wide eyed terror at the sight of Thorin apparently leaving the treasury of his own will, but they settled almost immediately. Obviously he appeared calmer than they expected, and I’m certain that the fact that I stood at his side, alive and unharmed, surely helped settle their nerves a bit as well.

“Uncle?” Kili asked, the confusion more blatant on his face than the rest, and I couldn’t help but smile a bit. Fili settled a hand on his brother’s shoulder and shook his head once, very faint. Kili seemed to deflate in seconds and I wondered the reason. Thorin’s hand felt heavy on my shoulder where it squeezed, though I felt no pain through the mithril.

“Bilbo has accepted my first courting gift. For his second, he has requested that I treat with the elves and the men. I’ve decided to grant his wish, and ask that Balin accompany myself and Bilbo as I do so.” He sounded so serious, as if all of this were naught but some deal he was conducting, some kingly business, and every last one of the dwarves displayed a sharp surprise. Once again, Kili was particularly obvious; I assumed it his youth. I tried for a smile, hoping to reassure them, but received none in return. None of them argued, however. I suppose I should’ve been grateful for that; given the way Thorin had been acting, the things he’d been saying, I didn’t imagine protest would’ve gone over well. Eventually, though, Balin nodded and made his way forward. Together we walked, leaving through the small, narrow hall through which I’d first entered and slowly making our way to Dale by way of long detours.

Thorin determinedly didn’t speak, hand always on some part or another of me, as if he feared I’d flee. I tried to walk near to him, still hoping for reassurance, and he did at least seem to appreciate that through the gold haze. Balin shot me worried looks the whole way there, however, wise eyes dancing with fright. I knew what he thought, of course, that I was “sacrificing” myself to prevent a needless war. In a way, I suppose, he was right. Of course, in another way, I was taking advantage of Thorin, agreeing to something I knew he didn’t truly want, another madness brought about by the cursed gold.

Eventually we did reach the human camp, and, very quickly, we were “apprehended” and escorted to Thranduil’s tent, where, shockingly enough, we found Gandalf as well as Bard. I couldn’t hold back my grin when I saw him.

“Gandalf!” I said, stepping away from Thorin for a moment to throw my arms about the wizard with grateful joy. He chuckled, low and faintly sad, patting my shoulder once before Thorin pulled me back with something low, like a growl. Bard was, very obviously, surprised to see us, and I believe that Thranduil was as well, though it showed far less blatantly on his smooth features.

“Thorin?” Bard finally asked, and the dwarf only lifted his chin.

“I am King Under the Mountain, and you will give me the respect of calling me such, especially given that I have come to treat.” The shock only grew more obvious, now actually showing up a bit on the edges of Thranduil’s expression.

“That… is unexpected,” the human coughed, and Thorin sat, pulling me to one chair beside him while Balin took the one on his other side.

“I will admit that it is not by my choice. I do this under the request of my burglar,” he said, nodding to me, and I felt myself flush a bit under the sudden attention. Thranduil raised a single brow, graceful as anything, and seemed to be fighting back something like a smile.

“Shall I assume that you are the one who broke into my dungeons and stole the dwarves away in my barrels?” I flushed more darkly.

“Er, yes, I suppose so. Sorry about that.” I coughed. Thorin was smiling at me, for another moment like the him I knew, and stroked once through the mess of hair atop my head.

                “A bit late for that, I imagine. So, King Under the Mountain, you say you are here to treat; what do you offer?” Misery flooded his features, and I could see the struggle going on in his mind, the greed and the promise warring one another bitterly.

                “To the men of Laketown I offer the fourteenth share of the treasure once meant to be given to my burglar; he has offered to part with it. I am certain that it will be enough for the men to rebuild.” The corners of Bard’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, true relief filling his expression. He stood, then, and bowed to Thorin, hand out.

                “I thank you,” he said, and Thorin stared at the proffered hand as if it were a dead animal.

                “I say again that I do this for my burglar, not for you. If you must thank someone, thank him.” He looked quite ready to do so, but Thranduil spoke before he was able.

                “And for myself and my people, Thorin Oakenshield? What do you offer us?” He gritted his teeth and steel glinted in the blue of his eyes.

                “I have found stones that I believe your folk hold an interest in; they say they are made of pure starlight,” he ground out. “So too is there a silver necklace decorated with these stones that I believe my forefathers may have created upon request of one of your people.” Thranduil’s smile was quite satisfied and a bit smug, and I could see well enough what Thorin wanted to say, but he held his tongue when I squeezed his arm.

                “That would be sufficient,” he said, and Thorin nodded.

                “Our business is done, then. Upon my return to the mountain, I will gather what I have promised and send it over the gate. You may follow me and collect it if you wish. Following that, I ask that you both leave here.” Bard looked faintly upset, for a moment, but then he settled, obviously deciding that at least he’d have something to start rebuilding with, at least his people would live. I was almost surprised at the ease with which everything was decided, then; perhaps… perhaps things would go well from there on after all. Thorin even kept his promise and did as he’d said he would once we arrived; the gold and the stones went over the wall in almost record time, as though Thorin wanted to get rid of it before he couldn’t do so any longer. He held me like a lifeline the entire time and I… I almost wept again, like a child. I truly, truly was not worthy of this trust he’d given me.

* * *

 

                With dawn came the arrival of another army, the elves and men both having left (apparently taking Gandalf with them, which truly did upset me) after taking their prizes, though the dwarves seemed to welcome it far more, given that this army was made up of other dwarves, one of whom was a relative of Thorin’s who he greeted kindly when he reached the mountain’s gate.

                “Dain!” he called, a grin flashing across his features, and the other dwarf, a bit stockier than Thorin himself, returned the expression.

                “Thorin! I must say, I’d have built a more… moveable door before filling that one with stone.” He chuckled darkly.

                “Call it defense, cousin. Wait there, would you? I’ll send Dwalin to escort you in through the back way.” The other dwarf nodded agreeably, his mount, which appeared to be a large boar, shifting beneath him. Not even a half hour passed before the new army was with us in the mountain, and even less time passed before I was surrounded by them. I swallowed; it had been some time since I was surrounded by quite that many weapons.

                “Cousin, what in all of middle earth is this?” he asked, prodding my face with a sword tip. Thorin turned the blade from me with a hand, arm draping easily over my shoulders and pulling me into his side. I felt myself flame brilliant red even as the rest of the Company looked away, obviously made to feel some discomfort. I still wished to reassure them but knew it wasn’t the time.

                “He is a hobbit, my burglar, and my betrothed.” Dain actually gaped at me. Had the circumstances been better, I might’ve been offended.

                “He’s a bit… soft looking, Thorin. Not to mention how young he looks.” I squirmed, likely not helping his view of my age, and Thorin actually glared, apparently thinking me offended.

                “He has saved my life more than once, Dain, and old enough.” Dain didn’t look as if he believed a word of that. I, honestly, didn’t blame him.

                “He’s still _beardless_ ,” he said. “Couldn’t even be as old as your nephews.” I coughed, quiet, hoping to draw a bit of attention to myself.

                “Hobbits, we don’t, well, we don’t grow beards, not even in our later years. As for my age, I’m fifty, and while I realize that sounds quite young to dwarves, it’s a comfortable middle age for me. Hobbits age like men, you see,” I explained quietly, having already gone through a similar struggle far earlier in the journey wherein the dwarves, after learning of my age, attempted to attack Gandalf for tricking them into bringing a child on a life threatening journey. Dain continued staring at me. Thorin squeezed my arm in what I assumed was meant to be a comfort.

                “Be that as it may, you are not a dwarf, as you’ve said. Your rule at his side will not be acknowledged; my cousin would yet be expected to marry another, and to produce an heir.” Thorin moved his arm, nudging me behind him in some sort of protective gesture, then strode forward to crowd Dain, threat dark in his gaze.

                “I have a fine heir already; my sister son Fili will be perfectly capable of ruling when it is his time, especially with his brother at his side. I will not stand in my own kingdom and have my cousin tell me who I may and may not wed; the people will learn to acknowledge him, especially when they know of all he has done. Without him, our quest would have failed many times over, likely before we even reached Rivendell.” I shifted, a bit uncomfortable with the praise and more uncomfortable that I seemed to be causing such trouble despite the fact that all I’d done had been to prevent such. Dain looked angry for a moment, his face twisting into a mask of rage that reminded me too closely of recent expressions I’d seen Thorin wear, but when Thorin took another half step towards him, the anger melted as if it had never been there.

                He sheathed his blade, then, and once more his men followed. Then, he knelt, head on the stone floor. Still the army he’d come with followed his lead perfectly. A strange pleasure lit in Thorin’s eyes and he took me by the hand, pulling me to stand by him again. Many moments passed in the silence, until at last Dain stood and held out a hand. Thorin took it with his free one.

                “I congratulate you, cousin; you’ve done well, far better than I’d imagined you would. When do you plan to have the wedding?” he asked, and Thorin actually smiled again, his face softening, though I could still see the bright madness in his eyes. He was drifting so far away, I could see it, but at least he could still smile. That had to mean something, however slight; it had to mean that hope remained. If only I could make myself remember that.

                “When Erebor is in splendor once more. So too would I have a crown made for him first; I found the crown of the king, of course, but not the crown of the consort. I suppose I would prefer to make it myself anyway.” Dain inclined his head, respect in every line of his body.

                “I and my men happily offer our service in the rebuilding of Erebor, cousin. We would all gladly see it made fine again.” Thorin nodded.

                “I accept your aid with equal joy. I ask only that you send a small party to the Blue Mountains and have my sister brought here; I am certain she would like to see her children again.” I saw happiness lighten Fili and Kili almost immediately, the both of them, I knew, having missed their mother greatly over the course of the journey. They’d told so many stories of her that, truly, I was a bit happy as well; I wanted desperately to meet someone like the woman they described. After all, she could surely talk sense into Thorin, if anyone could.

                Dain did so easily, turning to one of the assembled dwarves and making the order with a simple wave of his hand. I almost wanted to laugh, it was done with such ease; I’d long ago begun to miss simplicity, even in things like that.

                “Have you a place for we who remain to rest, Thorin?” He shook his head, actually looking a bit embarrassed as he led me from Dain’s men to the Company.

                “Regretfully no; there are some rooms we could reach with little effort, I’m sure, but I don’t want anyone wandering through the mountain when it is so damaged. We’ll begin forming parties to judge the areas safe to travel in the morning, and when we’ve a general idea of where the ceiling won’t collapse upon us, we can set about rebuilding the weak and destroyed areas.” He sounded so like royalty, then; he’d always looked noble, of course, carried himself like a king, but now, dressed in fine robes with a crown atop his head, his status fully struck me.

                Before, he’d been Thorin, leader of the company, my friend. Now he was King Under the Mountain, a man I barely knew, sick with gold and only growing sicker. I squeezed his hand as if I thought that would bring him back again.

                “What would you have me do then?” I asked him, and he raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up almost teasingly.

                “You? I’d have you remain here, perhaps with Balin.” I stared.

                “Thorin, I will not-,” I attempted, but he was very obviously not listening, and wouldn’t have cared even if he was.

                “I have not done all I have only to have you crushed in a cave in whilst you traipsed about through a mountain you’ve no idea how to navigate. You haven’t got a sense for stone as the rest of us do.” I glared, forgetting for a moment that the dwarf I saw now wasn’t the same as the dwarf I’d met over the course of the journey, at least not entirely.

                “And _I_ have not done all I have only to be treated like some glass bauble upon the end of the quest. Let me help.” He gave me a certain look, a little confused and a little frustrated and even a little amused.

                “You shall; you will help my nerves greatly if you remain up here with Balin instead of wandering the mountain without protection.” I sighed.

                “And what’s this, then?” I murmured, plucking at the mithril coat, and the amusement drained from his face as his hand stroked through my hair, down the side of my face.

                “That will protect only what it covers. It will do nothing for your head should a rock fall, nor your legs should you stumble where the stone has become uneven, nor even your lower arms should you try to lift something too large. Stay; when a place is deemed safe I will escort you to see it myself. If I thought I could stand the days without you I’d have you wait in your Shire until all was completed then bring you back to see it all at once. Now, rest, yes? But be watchful; I must look about myself for a bit, but I’ll return before dawn to lie beside you.” He had me sit with one last stroke of my hair, and then he was gone, moving deeper into the mountain through one of the doors that, at least, didn’t lead to the treasury as far as I knew. The Company was around me in an instant.


	2. Chapter 2

                The moment Thorin was out of sight and the other dwarves were settled around me, I was bombarded with comments and questions and concerns, all of them sad eyed and nerve-ridden.

                “You mustn’t, Bilbo,” one said, I think Fili.

                “Not like this. I know you do it for us, for peace, but that is not worth you,” Kili finished, the both of them settling hands on my respective arms.

                “He’d not be happy knowing he forced you into something with him you didn’t want,” Bofur stated quietly, his normally jovial voice gone dim. I tried for a smile and shook my head, holding my arms out and letting them all crush me to them in what I assumed they thought was a hug. I tried for a chuckle, and while it was far from my best, it did at least seem to settle them some.

                “Foolish as it sounds, I have… I do love Thorin, truly, or at least I love the Thorin I met at Bag End. I know well enough he never felt that way, and that Thorin still wouldn’t, but he as he is now… something has made him think he feels for me, and if a marriage will stop the needless bloodshed of my dearest friends, and perhaps bring the Thorin we know back to us, I will do so. Not that I imagine I’d be allowed in the mountain again once he was aware of himself, but at least he would be himself again.” The progress I’d made at calming them evaporated, leaving them nervous as all again.

                “Bilbo, no. Uncle… he was quite… fond of you, after the incidents on the Carrock. I fear that, your love for him aside, right now he’d be willing to take whatever you weren’t willing to give.” That I could not believe. Thorin was not himself, I knew that, but he was not… he was not that far gone, he would not hurt me so. I shook my head.

                “I don’t think so, Fili; I’m glad for your worry, I am, but he would not. He is… you dwarves have a certain way of doing things, don’t you? Waiting until you’re wedded for it to be proper? He’s so set on being king, he would follow that.” Kili stared at his brother like he’d gone totally mad, and Fili couldn’t bring himself to look at myself or his brother. I tried not to listen when they separated themselves from the group, then, the both of them faintly angry and deeply frightened. Even still, I heard what they said because of the room’s reigning silence, no matter how I might’ve wished I hadn’t.

                “Fili, you _know_ Uncle would not-,” Kili tried, but his brother interrupted with a harsh shake of his head.

                “I know nothing anymore, Kili. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t _felt_ it; I know when you lie.” Silence, for but a second, then a noise like a hiccup that I knew meant Kili was fighting back tears he thought himself too old and too proud to shed.

                “I don’t want it,” he said, quiet, voice cracking, and I heard the rustle of fabric as Fili drew him into a tight hold.

                “I know; I don’t either. Still I feel it, and I know you do as well; the gold lust is in us too, Kili, and I will not lie and say that I have not felt… felt as though I might do things that I know I would not do. Uncle is suffering more than either of us, and you know how fiercely he wanted Bilbo. I do not want our hobbit hurt, Kili, and if he trusts Uncle now… I love him, Kili, truly I do, but I do not think that he is really our uncle any longer.” Another hiccup, this one perhaps from Fili instead.

                “I’m afraid, Fili,” Kili whispered, “I’m afraid and I don’t… I don’t want to see Bilbo hurt that way. Please, Fili, please, we must… we must do _something_.” I didn’t like the way Fili looked then, expression weary and shadowed, head down.

                “There is nothing to be done, Kili. If we do anything at all uncle will believe we do it to undermine his claim and take what he wishes to take, and heirs or not, he will not hesitate to have us executed for that, not now. You must remember that.” They were silent for a few moments, only standing together, half holding each other for comfort, until finally Kili spoke, almost too quietly for me to hear.

                “What if… what if we did, Fili? Perhaps then uncle wouldn’t want him anymore, and he might punish us, but Bilbo would-.” Fili hit him, then, terror in his eyes, hit him without thinking, wild and careless and thrown so wide that Kili was barely struck at all.

                “ _Never_ say that again, Kili. Don’t even think it. Actually, if you can avoid it, don’t even _look_ at the hobbit, don’t say his name, and certainly do not touch him anymore. I can’t… I can’t let you be hurt Kili, not for…,” he began, but couldn’t seem to finish, pain in his eyes. Kili clenched his fists, the tears still welling in his eyes though he refused to let them spill, and his lower lip was split and a little swollen where Fili had hit him.

                “Not for him? When did he become so much less than we, Fili?” Fili couldn’t answer, instead looking the other way, away from his brother, away from me, and Kili could only laugh bitterly, shaking his head, though he couldn’t bring himself to stray from his elder brother’s side.

                “Please, Kili. It’s… it’s the hobbit’s choice, not ours. If he protests, if uncle does something he doesn’t want…,” he tried, begged, pleaded, but Kili only shook his head again.

                “Then it will be too late for us to do anything at all. You have to know that if we let this happen then our honor is as shattered as uncle’s. We both know… we both know what he’ll do, Fili, and you probably know better than I. Don’t make me let him suffer.” Fili’s own eyes were welling now, his hands actually wavering a bit, and he shook his head.

                “Don’t make me watch _you_ suffer too, Kili. We can’t do anything for the hobbit now, but you don’t have to be hurt too.”

                “If it’s his choice then it’s mine as well.” More silence settled between them, thick and sharp and angry and full of unsaid words I’d never know. Fili didn’t respond, and Kili, seeing something in his brother’s face that I didn’t, came back over. Fili stayed a few feet away, head steadfastly turned, and Kili patted my wrist softly. “I’ll do what I can, Bilbo. Please don’t… I’ll tell you I’m sorry now, in case something happens.” I forced the best smile I could, not liking the look on his face, and shook my head.

                “I’ll be alright, Kili. Look after yourself.” And that was all I could say, I supposed, all I could manage to force out without starting to cry myself. The dwarves settled around me, a quiet, mournful song on their lips. I was almost glad I didn’t know the words.  

* * *

 

                When Thorin came back, he at least didn’t look particularly angry or particularly goldsick, though his gaze was heavy and lidded and didn’t lighten at all until he settled his stare on me. He smiled almost like himself, the slightest curve of lips, and settled his hand atop mine lightly, squeezing almost sweetly. I patted his hand in response, a little thoughtless myself and running on instinct, and Fili crept back into the group with a sort of caution I’d never seen in him before. Kili… Kili only looked considering, shifting a little nearer to Thorin and I, and Thorin watched him with something that wasn’t quite curiosity and wasn’t quite anger but was some sort of strange mixture between the two. I decided to squeeze his hand myself in the hopes of keeping him settled but it only worked for a moment.

                Kili settled a hand on my cheek and flashed a grin at myself or his uncle or the horrified company around us, tilted my face up to his and kissed me lightly, kindly, chaste and soft and Thorin roared like an animal. My vision flashed when I hit the ground, support leaving me as Thorin dropped my hand and fell on his nephew and when I managed to sit up and look at them he had his hands wrapped tight around the young dwarf’s throat.

                Terror the likes of which I’ve never seen filled Kili’s eyes, his hands clawing at Thorin’s desperately, and Fili jumped towards his uncle, trying to pry him off, but no matter his strength, Thorin was older and stronger, more used to battle and to using his might. The other dwarves looked away and I felt sick; though I could see how they wanted to intervene, they were too frightened to do so.

                I lunged forward as Kili’s struggles began to wane, my hand on Thorin’s arm, desperation in my voice when I spoke.

                “Please, Thorin, stop. Let him go, Thorin, he’s your nephew, let him go, please,” I begged, and, very, very slowly, his grip loosened and he sat back on his haunches, eyes wide and fixed on my face. Bruises were already forming around Kili’s throat, and he rolled over and away, trembling as Fili hunched over him, pure fear in his voice as he whispered comforting words Kili could probably barely even hear.

                “Bilbo?” Thorin asked, voice slow and slurring and almost sad as he took me in his arms, tight, forehead against my neck, breath hot and coming too fast against my skin. Cautiously, I let him hold me, returned the grasp as loosely as I thought I’d be able. “My _nephew_. I had known of… I never thought he would ever betray me so. Yet I _knew._ My own kin, my own thieving kin, trying to take you from me. Why did you stop me? Do not tell me you _want_ him, Bilbo, that beardless _wretch_.”  

                “No, Thorin, I do not. You are enough for me, you alone. I only… Kili is but a child, Thorin; would you kill a child for doing something he doesn’t understand the meaning behind?” His face didn’t soften, precisely, and the anger I saw didn’t totally fade, but he did at least seem to settle. He turned to gaze at his nephew, sitting up slowly, coughing quietly.

                “If you ever touch him again, Kili, I will not hesitate simply because you are a child. Do you understand that?” he asked, and Kili gritted his teeth, defiance and anger painted dark over his expression. Mentally I begged him not to do anything foolish, and I’m sure his brother was doing the same, but still it seemed he only barely resisted refusal.

                “Yes, uncle,” he hissed, and Thorin only nodded, blank and almost emotionless. He took me by the hand and dragged me to my feet, then, asking me to go with him, and honestly, I didn’t dare refuse. I felt the stares of the company burrowing into my back, felt the fear and the anger and the pain they all seemed to be projecting towards me, and again I could only hope that they all stayed silent until Thorin truly settled again.

                He led me through the twining halls so easily that I might’ve thought he’d only been away from the palace for a day, and I struggled to mark things that would help me find my way back if I had to. Everything looked the same, all drab, crumbling stone and broken statues, tattered scraps of fabric littering the floor and clinging desperately to the walls. I didn’t ask where Thorin was taking me and he didn’t volunteer the information.

                The room he finally brought us to was beautiful, even I could admit that; it even seemed relatively undamaged as compared to the rest of the mountain kingdom. The walls were covered in tapestries with pretty, pale colored patterns, and the floor was coated in rugs that had likely been soft in their prime, though now they were roughened with dirt and many were torn. It looked like some sort of dressing room; lovely dresses hung from bars that I supposed had been installed for precisely that purpose, and the vanity was decorated with jewelry and lipsticks and rouges. He led me towards it, still silent, and had me sit on the soft, velvety stool settled before it. The silver mirror was so tarnished that it looked black, and I couldn’t even see my reflection for all the dust.

                “I cannot wed you yet,” he said, quiet, almost warm. “However much I might wish I could. There is too much to be done before that, as I’m sure you see; I would not ask you to wed a king whose kingdom is in such an awful state. Even before the wedding, though, you are king consort, and I would have that be recognized by those who are here and those who will be here soon. Just as I cannot wed you yet, I cannot yet make a crown for you; that must be presented when the wedding ends, you understand.” I turned on the stool to look up at him, at the thoughtful stare on his face.

                “Thorin, I don’t mind-,” I tried, and he stopped me with a hand on my cheek, a fond smile.

                “I know that you do not, Bilbo, but still I would not ask it of you. Besides, no dwarf here would look kindly on a wedding now; they would see me as taking advantage of this crown, and you as a fool for wedding one who has not yet proven his ability to rule and to provide. That is why I never mentioned any feelings I may have developed for you on the road, you know; I had nothing, was nothing, and you deserved better than a dwarf who was king only in name. I knew then too that you would not care, but the others would have known how improper it was. One simply does not court with nothing to offer, after all.”

                “Hobbits often do,” I said, smiling, settling my hand atop his on my cheek. “I once knew a lad, a very good friend of mine, who could offer only flowers he found in the forests near the shire. The lass he was courting found it sweet; they had a very nice wedding, I heard, though I wasn’t able to attend.” Thorin let a trace of confusion slip onto his face, and so I explained. “My mother and father had only just died; I… did not leave Bag End often, and I’d already developed something of a reputation as Took wild, so not many of the more proper families would come by to check on my state. The couple did come by perhaps a week later, though, and I had my own little celebration with them. Their children were really incredibly sweet.” He tilted my face up, sweeping down and taking my lips once, quick and light and gone before I’d really even felt it.

                “I am sorry. I have felt the pain of losing my mother and father, but I could not imagine losing them both so soon after each other, and still I had my siblings. You did not have any siblings, did you? That seems odd for hobbits.” I managed a laugh, a bit confused at him being so open with me, so friendly, after what he’d only just done.

                “It is; my mother was already seen as odd. That she only had one child when most have at least five only made her stranger. She had trouble bearing, or so I was always told, though I don’t know if that’s truth or not. I never truly minded, though; I had so many cousins about that it always seemed I had siblings whether I truly did or not.”

                “My own mother seemed a bit of an oddity herself, though for the opposite reason. Most Dwarven women have trouble with one child, and my mother bore three. My sister is similar; Fili and Kili were born but five years apart, which most saw as nigh impossible. I expect she’d have had more but for the death of her husband.” Still I wanted to meet her; I yet held hope that perhaps she would be able to do more to help this situation than I or anyone else had been able.

                “You’ve never mentioned that you had a sibling beyond Fili and Kili’s mother,” I murmured, and he frowned.

                “A brother, Frerin. He has been sent to stone as well, else he’d have joined me on this quest.” I thought to apologize, but he shook his head again. “Worry not; I am the one who mentioned him first, and though I still miss him, it is not so fierce a pain as it once was.” I nodded, thinking for a moment how to change the subject, how to make him smile again, for when he smiled, he seemed closer to the Thorin I knew. I couldn’t resist the hope that if only I made him happy enough, he would return to himself, and the others wouldn’t have to fear him so horribly. The look in Kili’s eyes yet burned me.

                “What is this room?” I finally decided to ask, and, yes, he smiled again, very faint.

                “This is the consort’s dressing room; the last, I’m sure you see, was my grandmother. The reason I left was to seek this room, and see how much had survived the dragon; I am surprised still that it is all so untouched. She had a taste for fine things, after all,” he said, gesturing at the jewels littered over the vanity. “I’d thought to look for her crown here, but didn’t find it. I’ve still no idea where it’s ended up, though the more I think of it the more I expect it might’ve been brought to the Blue Mountains. Still, it matters little; as I’ve said, I’d rather make yours. There were some things I found that I expect would be appropriate, however. But first… ah, I shouldn’t have brought you here yet. Come, come, I’m sure you’d like to clean yourself off a bit.” He led me from the room in a rush, but not too far this time, into some sort of bathing room, similar to the one we’d been able to use in Rivendell but a bit simpler, and, of course, damaged slightly with disuse and the dragon’s mad flight. Still, it looked safe enough and nice enough, and I did admit that the prospect of a bath was rather nice. “Wait for a moment; I’ll fetch water. Once, we had a system here to make it flow without aid, but I expect by now the pipes have rusted or broken, and even if not, the water would be filthy.”      

                I didn’t get a chance to respond before he was gone, and I waited alone for a time until he returned, buckets upon buckets of steaming water being dragged behind him in some sort of cart, along with soap, and a few things that looked like towels and perhaps a new set of clothes. He poured the water into the most intact of the baths, settled the soap at the rim, and placed the rest a few feet away where it wouldn’t get wet, then stopped me before I even got my coat off to make use of it all, an almost amused expression painting his face.

                “Yes?” I asked, perhaps a bit impatient, and he almost laughed.

                “Wait until I leave, at least. There was no helping it while on the road, but if I watched you now when I’ve a choice in the matter I’ll never hear the end of it.” I supposed if I was to do this I’d have to ask him what else would be proper and what wouldn’t; I didn’t imagine I’d do much to help him return to himself if all I managed to do was embarrass him or trouble him. I nodded, let him turn and walk out, and settled heavily into the bath, sighing at the pleasant warmth.

                I couldn’t help but lose myself in thought as the comfortable water overwhelmed me, worry for Kili and myself and all the dwarves filling my heart. I wondered if I was even capable of helping Thorin, if he even _could_ be helped at this point. I’d never imagined he’d be able to do something so awful to Kili, his own nephew who’d often seemed to be like a son to him. Of course, I’d also never thought that he’d wish to marry me in any state of mind; obviously the gold was a powerful force over him. I swallowed, sinking lower into the water, tilting my head back. I don’t know for how long I simply lay there that way before I remembered that I needed to actually wash and set to scrubbing the dirt from my body and my hair. My feet took ages, they had so much dirt caked upon them. I think I lost myself in the focus of cleaning them, tried to keep from thinking of all the troubles I’d seen in the last days.

                There would be enough time to think of that, I knew, enough time to worry. I wondered if I would ever be able to see the Shire again. I expected not, if Thorin never emerged from his sickness; I didn’t expect he’d let me leave, after all. If he did, though… well, I imagined I’d be kicked back with barely a goodbye for doing what I was, for lying to him and taking advantage. At least he’d be well, in that case. Perhaps, if someone went with me and I swore to return, he’d at least allow me to go to the Shire and let them all know I wasn’t dead, to fetch a few of my things. Hamfast was surely worried sick, and I was certain I’d likely missed the birth of my cousin Drogo’s child, the one he and his wife Primula had planned to call Frodo. Hamfast and Bell had probably had their own boy as well, I expected. I only hoped I’d get to meet them both one day; they would surely be fine children, after all, just as their parents.

                A certain sadness struck me, stinging my heart and making my eyes burn. I scrubbed harder at my feet, until I could again see the flesh beneath the dirt and the water had been darkened to a dirty, grayish tone. I still didn’t bother to drag myself from it until it started to chill, though, and then I dried and began to dress in the clothes he’d left me.

                They were very fine, thick and pleasant after the sudden chill of the mountain from getting out of the bath, and we had nothing like them in the Shire, to be sure. I still felt they made me look a bit foolish, being a bit too big for me and closer to something a king might wear than a hobbit, but again, I found the warmth nice, and they felt soft and clean, which was certainly a marked improvement from my own long-destroyed things. I supposed as I dug the Arkenstone and my ring from the pockets of my old coat and tucked it into the new one that I ought to have simply been grateful that he did not insist I wore a robe, or something equally silly.

                I found some sort of valve to let the water run from the bath, again similar to what the elves had had, and left the room, Thorin offering an approving gaze when he saw me.

                “I feel much better, now,” I offered, and he chuckled.

                “You look far better as well; I can finally see your face again, now that all the dirt’s been scrubbed clean. Come, we’ll return to the other room, now, so that I might do what I planned.” I didn’t ask, assuming it would be safer than risking annoying him. He led me back to the dressing room and sat me down again. The glass in the mirror was clean, now; my reflection looked back at me, cleaner than I’d seen it in some time, flushed a little from the heat of the water. I almost didn’t recognize myself, so clean and dressed in such unfamiliar clothing. Thorin had obviously found a comb somewhere, and he started running it through my hair, tugging lightly at the tangles to pull them free, until it fell smooth and clean over my forehead. Funny; I hadn’t even noticed how long it had gotten, really, for all the other troubles.

                Thorin lay the comb aside, but didn’t let my hair alone; his fingers ran through it a few times in a few places, until finally he chose some longer strands a little behind my ear and started twisting them expertly into what I assumed was a braid. He worked quickly but carefully, humming some low, almost sweet-sounding tune under his breath. I didn’t recognize it; very few in the Shire sang slow songs meant for contemplation. Most, instead, were fun to dance to, quick and lively, and the few that were slow were generally sad and saved for sad occasions. I had grown rather fond of dwarven music over the course of the quest, though; they were all skilled in music, both with their instruments and vocally, and I much preferred the evenings where they played and sang their own songs over the evenings when they asked me to sing a hobbit song, though they generally seemed to enjoy them well enough, especially the bawdier ones I knew.

                “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you all sing that one,” I said, quiet, and Thorin chuckled.

                “That is because it is only sung on very special occasions. To sing it simply because one wishes to sing it would be unheard of; I imagine some don’t even look kindly upon humming it, and I would not do so if any but you and I were here. Do you have no such songs in your Shire?” I only barely stopped myself from shaking my head, as he was still braiding. Obviously whatever braid he was putting in my hair was far from simple, else he’d have been long finished with it, but honestly I liked the sensation of his hands in my hair, the gentle tugs and twists.

                “No; our songs… there are some more appropriate for certain occasions, of course, but anyone can sing any of them whenever they feel the need. My gardener and I often sang together as we worked; I expect by now we’ve gone through every song a hobbit’s ever written.” He finished the one braid and closed it with something, then walked around to the other side, head turned slightly down.

                “I’d thought the point of keeping a gardener was so that one didn’t have to do the gardening.” I smiled, some of my fondness surely seeping through. He tugged at my hair a little more sharply than before.

                “I suppose so. I often had little else to do, though. Sometimes I worked on other things out there while he tended the garden, though, writing, repairs on the house, all that. Other times I’d just sit and watch, especially if he was working with some of my more delicate things. He has a certain magic when it comes to the green things of the world, you see; I imagine there isn’t a plant in the world that wouldn’t flourish under his hand. The Gamgees have always been companions of the Bagginses, though; I expect it’s because many Bagginses have trouble with growing. I was spared because of the Took blood, I suppose, but my cousin Lobelia and her husband Otho would have trouble growing weeds.” I laughed a little at the thought; Lobelia’s envy over my garden was matched only by her envy over my mother’s silver spoons. He didn’t respond, I suppose too focused on the braiding, hands still rougher than before and bringing a little discomfort, but I couldn’t seem to resist speaking a little more, my earlier considerations spilling forth without prompting. “I imagine his wife has borne a fauntling by now, though; he was so pleased when he told me that she was to have a child! I think many were starting to suspect her barren, and some in the Shire see that as nigh on shameful.” He seemed to settle a little at the words, hands in my hair softening again.

                “I am sure it will be a fine child. Do hobbit children take on the professions of their parents?”

                “Often. Some choose not to, of course, but it’s rather rare, and many often struggle to find one willing to apprentice them in their chosen field. I don’t think there has been a Gamgee drawn to anything but earth in many generations, though; perhaps theirs will be an odd one, though, I’ve no idea. I only hope that he’ll be able to be friendly with Drogo’s boy, when they’re old enough.” He tilted his head, still looking warm and pleased, and finished the second braid, stepping behind me and drawing both of the completed braids to the back of my head, obviously setting to work on something else. 

                “Drogo?” I nodded.

                “My cousin. His wife, Primula Brandybuck, and I were rather good friends in our youth, and once she and Drogo began courting, the three of us spent much time together. I was one of the first to hear that they were to have their first child. She was very near to having him when I left, I expect; she’s probably long borne him, by now. Bell, Hamfast’s wife, was not nearly so far along, but even she’ll have likely given birth by now. I do hope I’ll get to meet them both one day.” He offered me another smile but didn’t answer, instead finishing whatever he’d been doing at the back of my head and having me turn in the chair to face him.

                “Don’t let any but me undo or change those braids, Bilbo. They are the mark of what you are to me; the beads wear my seal, and the pattern is that of the ruler’s fiancé. No dwarf could look upon them without knowing who you are, and none but a fool would dare go against their meaning.” He slid a ring from his hand and stepped around me, grabbing what looked like a thin, finely wrought golden chain from the table and letting the ring hang from it. “This ring has been in my family since Durin’s line began. My father gave it to me before Erebor fell; I should like you to wear it, so that even one who is not a dwarf might see all that you mean to the King under the Mountain.” I swallowed stiffly, holding out my hand, and he settled the ring and the chain into it, watching as I clasped it around my neck. It hung low, settling at the center of my chest, heavy and gray.

                “I’ll take good care of it,” I murmured, and he nodded, stroking my hair.

                “I know. There is much else that I would give you, but still must I wait until we have wedded. Already do I see that my patience will be tested; perhaps I shall but see it as incentive to finish the repairs as quickly as I’m able.” I managed a smile, glad only that he’d begun to turn the moment I offered it because I knew he would’ve seen how forced it was. Every emotion in me conflicted, guilt and fear and hope and joy, all of them warring and all of them seeming cruel in their own way. The Arkenstone in my pocket felt almost as heavy as the ring about my neck. Thorin drew me to my feet again, hand curling loose and light around mine, and I kept my mind far from the thoughts of how easily that grip could change.

                “Are we going back to the others now?” I asked, and he nodded.

                “I suppose. I haven’t yet found any rooms suitable for you, and don’t imagine I will any time soon. The royal’s rooms are much deeper within the mountain, near the center. We won’t reach them for some time, and even then it will take time to return them to any sort of splendor.”

                “Eat with me when we get there, and perhaps we’ll rest a bit together. I haven’t seen you sleep since that bit of time in the treasury.” He looked a little confused by that, eyes flashing, as if the Thorin I knew were fighting to be seen again.

                “I… suppose I haven’t. It has been some time since I’ve eaten as well, I believe. Yes, I imagine we might do that. Tomorrow I will have to begin preparing parties to start repairs on the mountain, after all. Tonight… tonight will be a good time to rest. I only worry who I might safely leave you with tomorrow,” he said, eventually talking more to himself than to me, the flash of his eyes fading back to icy blue. “Perhaps Gloin; he is wedded, after all, and no dwarf would ever forsake such vows, not even for a face as pretty as yours,” he said, smiling a little, stroking my cheek with the back of one hand, and I wriggled a bit under the praise. After all, it wasn’t precisely proper in the Shire to go about calling other hobbits pretty, whether they were or they weren’t, and I’d never seen myself as much beyond a very plain, very hobbit-y hobbit.

                We walked along slowly, not speaking, and I could almost imagine that I was with the Thorin I knew again. We’d shared many easy, companionable silences just as this one, and I lost myself in the memories, the hope nagging me more powerfully again, however unfounded. If only I could keep him beside me, keep him away from the treasury, make sure he slept and ate, kept the other dwarves from doing anything to upset him too terribly… perhaps there was a chance. I did not think I could manage if ever I imagined that there wasn’t. He paused about a hall away from where the others were and drew me into a real kiss, deep and long. I returned it, the act almost second-nature, and I remembered all the times I’d thought that I would never have this, that he would never care for me as I’d grown to care for him over the course of the quest. I had not wanted it like this, with him not in his right mind, losing himself to gold and willing to do so much I knew he’d never do. It was a cold pleasure.

                “There; I’ll not be able to do that with them around for a time. Can’t have them gossiping too much.” He said it teasingly, but somehow I expected gossip wasn’t the only possibility that troubled him, especially given the way he’d spoken earlier. Dwarven courtship seemed very… specific, after all, as well as chaste and perhaps a bit severe in its traditionalism. Still, it was not my place to question it, or to complain; as I’d said, I didn’t imagine embarrassing him would do much to bring him back around. When we moved into the large front hall and sat before the company again, there seemed an odd separation between Thorin and I and them. They spoke with us, of course, but it seemed stilted, and when they spoke to me, they didn’t let their eyes linger on me for more than a heartbeat. Kili looked almost angry enough to be sick the whole while, and Fili kept a hand curled loosely but obviously in the back of his shirt.

                The normalcy was forced, pretend. Thorin and I were given larger portions when dinner was served. I could barely even enjoy the meal, too afraid that the other shoe would drop and all the words so obviously being resisted would fly free. I stayed close to Thorin, kept my shoulder pressed against his, settled my hand on his when I was able, and he at least seemed well enough. I even managed to get him to fall asleep before myself and the rest of the company, his head settled on my lap. Even when he slept, though, the rest of the company still seemed wary, as if they’d say something wrong and Thorin would jerk awake again and I would be unable to hold him back. A similar fear lingered low in my chest, but I did not wish to dwell on it, so instead I simply tried to keep conversation light and easy. I was almost able to pretend that all was as it had been by the time we all fell into a fitful sleep on the icy stone floor.


	3. Chapter 3

                The next morning, Thorin was up before us all, already giving orders to Dain’s dwarves, and when he saw us awaken, he strode over, proud and tall, forehead creased and frown stiffly fixed on his expression.

                “Fili, you will travel with Dain and myself in the lead party. Kili, you will follow in the second party an hour from now, along with Dwalin, Nori, Dori, and Bofur. An hour after them, the rest of you, barring Gloin, will leave with the third and final party. Gloin, I ask that you remain here with Bilbo and look after him.” No one questioned it, however odd I might’ve thought it had I not known why Thorin made that call; Gloin was certainly able-bodied, not to mention the fact that he’d been a miner before this whole mess with the quest, so I expected he’d have been good to have as aid in the repairs. Still, I didn’t think it would be particularly wise of me to argue, then, so I did not, instead only watching as those dwarves meant to be in the first group stood and left.

                Kili moved nearer to me immediately, settling at the side Gloin didn’t occupy, and everyone, myself included, watched him warily. The bruises about his neck were livid, and my heart twisted in my chest.

                “Kili,” Dwalin said, warning in his voice, and he shook his head.  

                “I won’t touch him, Dwalin, but this… it can’t go on, you know that,” he said, something low and serious that I barely recognized filling his voice. Dwalin’s jaw clenched, Balin settling a quick hand on his shoulder as if to calm him, and he did settle a bit; oddly, the moments where they acted like brothers truly surprised me, as if I always forgot that they were until they displayed it again.

                “I can’t let him start a war,” I said, soft, “And I can’t let him lose himself completely. I’ve… there’s still some of the Thorin we know there; I’ve seen it.” Such sadness overcame them as I’ve never seen; Kili, never one to obey, settled his hand heavily over mine. No one mentioned it, and I took the offered comfort.

                “Fili says he is gone,” he whispered, pain flooding his voice. “I don’t know if I believe him fully, but… Bilbo, I believed that he would kill me. I believe… I believe that he would hurt you, given cause. You know these, don’t you, Dwalin?” he asked, pulling lightly at one of the braids Thorin had put in. Dwalin, strong, warrior Dwalin, didn’t look at me. A sudden anger flooded Kili’s face, dark and quick and wild, as he took me by the shoulder and turned me to face the rest of the Company.

                “Kili?” I asked, but he only shook his head.

                “Will none of you tell him? Have you forgotten what he means to us, that he is our friend, our _brother_? I asked my brother this and he had no answer for me, but perhaps one of you might: when did he become less than we? When did Bilbo become someone we were willing to sacrifice only because he is willing to do it? I think still that he stands equal among us, and that he would never let any of us do this, but I seem alone in that now.” Silence, for a few moments, until Bofur at last spoke.

                “No one has worn those braids in a long while,” he finally managed. “Kili himself only could’ve seen them in a history book.” They meant something more than I’d assumed, then, but then I suppose many things involving the dwarves had ended up that way. No one else continued the thought, though. Kili turned me again, this time to settle me in front of him.

                “Is that all any of you are willing to say?” he asked, and again, no one responded.

                “There’s no point worrying him, Kili,” Balin finally said. “You know we care for him, just as much as you yourself. We will do what we can to help him as much as we are able.” I didn’t recognize the way Kili laughed, cold and angry and not at all like himself, and I worried for one fierce moment that I would lose him as well.

                “You all will do nothing, if you will not even tell him this.” I blinked up at him, frown stiff on his face, brow furrowed, and though I feared for him, I couldn’t resist the desire to know.

                “Do they mean something in particular?” I asked, quiet, and he laughed again.

                “All braids mean _something,_ Bilbo. For those, it is not so much the meaning as the intent that troubles me and should trouble them. All consorts wore them for a while, when the consort wasn’t… equal to the king. My _tutor_ ,” he said, glancing at Balin, harshness in his gaze, “explained that it was like writing your name in your favorite shirt so no one else wears it.”  I felt myself stiffen a bit. Even changed as he was… even changed as he was, I hadn’t imagined Thorin would ever think anything like that.

                “But that wasn’t what they really meant, Bilbo, it was only the intent of some kings. Their use only stopped because of that intent, because the intent of the kings who wedded changed, not because of the meaning behind them. It has been so long since that intent was felt, Bilbo, I’m sure Thorin had you wear them only for the meaning.” Kili only looked faintly disgusted. I wasn’t entirely certain what to think.

                “I know you’re his friend, Balin, but why defend him now? He isn’t… he isn’t who he was, you know that. Anyone who looked at him could see that he’s changed. You know why he put those braids in Bilbo’s hair even when he could’ve used others. You know why that ring is around Bilbo’s neck. All of you do.” A chill bit at me, from my toes to my head. I curled my toes, an old nervous habit that without soft dirt beneath my feet served only to make me more nervous.

                “Kili,” I murmured, not certain what to say. If this was true, then I… I was no different than the Arkenstone, simply kept because I was different, a possession to show his status. Hopelessness struck me, a dark shroud over my heart; the Thorin I knew would never treat another living thing that way. He’d been treated as less than others too often for that, knew the way it felt and the cruelty of it. Was he gone, truly gone? Had all the little flashes of him I’d seen been nothing but wishful thinking? Or perhaps I was like the Arkenstone in another way, perhaps I only made his madness worse. He never would’ve jumped on Kili as he had if not for me. I wondered if there was any way that I might run; surely I could catch the elves and the men, and surely Gandalf would bring me home. I swallowed stiffly. No. No, I could not run, not again, not anymore. I couldn’t just leave these dwarves to their fate. I’d made a promise to help them reclaim their home, and this place would not be home unless Thorin was their friend again. I’d only have to try something else, perhaps.

                “He wanted everyone to know that you were his, so no one else would even think of falling for you or taking you away. He may as well have branded you, and still I’m the only one willing to speak even a word on it.”

                “Speak too much and you’ll end up dead,” someone, one of Dain’s dwarves, said. “If he’s the king’s I’d suggest keeping your hands off of him.” Kili gritted his teeth, whipping around to glare at the one who’d spoken, hand reaching towards his back for a bow he wasn’t wearing.

                “You don’t know anything. Don’t act like you do.” The dwarf shrugged.

                “I know the king wouldn’t want you pawing at his lover any more than any other dwarf would.”

                “It isn’t so simple.”

                “You don’t have to justify yourself to me, I don’t plan on telling him. Chances are he’d kill me too for not stopping you where you stood. I’m only giving warning.”

                “As if I don’t know what could happen,” he hissed, shaking his head. “And I don’t want him that way anyway. I only don’t want to see him mistreated, and Uncle… Uncle will, eventually even if not right away.” His eyes shone with unshed tears again, and I stretched up, settling an arm about his shoulders. The dwarf looked away, turning back to the others from the Iron Hills. What I did then was foolish, but there was too much of me that wished to comfort him to resist it. I stood and led him away from the group, to a quiet alcove near the sealed gate, and gripped his arms as he tried desperately to keep himself from crying.

                “It’s alright, Kili,” I whispered, and he choked, shaking his head.

                “No it isn’t. None of this is alright! I’m supposed to… you shouldn’t have to do this with me too. I’m supposed to be helping you. I’m the only one…,” he tried, and I hushed him.

                “I’ll be alright, too. Come now, haven’t I shown that hobbits are hardier than we seem? Thorin is still there, please trust in that. No matter what this madness has made him do, he is still there. Have hope, else I’ll lose mine.” He shuddered, dark eyes turned down, his age again showing on his face, softening the anger and the fear that had hardened it so before.

                “Promise me that you’ll leave if he gets worse. Swear it, and swear you won’t try to stop me if I try and help you. You’re my friend, Bilbo, and I’m obviously the only one willing to do anything for you now. They’re all too scared of him, but I… I don’t care if he kills me. I won’t be a coward, letting him do whatever he wants to you just because he’s put a crown on his head. I’ll die doing what’s right. That’s… that’s what a Durin is supposed to do. That’s what a _dwarf_ is supposed to do, and if I’m the only one who hasn’t forgotten that, then so be it.” I shook my head.

                “I can’t make that promise, Kili. You’re my friend as well; I won’t let you die for me.” He clenched his jaw, glaring at the ground.

                “I’ll protect you whether I’ve got your permission to do it or not. I just want to know that if something happens, you’ll get out of here. At least promise me that, and that… if he does something to you… if he does anything, you’ll at least tell one of us. They won’t… they won’t help until it’s too late, and maybe not even then, but… please, Bilbo.” There was a desperation in his voice that I didn’t like, and truly it scared me a bit. I nodded before I realized I was doing it.

                “Alright, Kili, I can give you that if it’ll settle your mind. If the worst comes to pass, I will leave, and I will not suffer in silence. You’ll know if anything happens, but I beg you not to do anything alone and unarmed as before.”

                “I’ll keep you safe, Bilbo,” he whispered instead, and though I knew he would do exactly what he thought necessary, I knew I’d get no further assurances from him, so I nodded.

                “I know that. Come, let’s go and sit with the others. You’ll have to go soon.” He nodded, scrubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his dirty coat, and I was thankful only that none of the Company mentioned anything when we returned. I continued trying to keep conversation light and simple, and they seemed to appreciate that even as stilted as it sometimes seemed as the separate groups stood when necessary to leave and explore the mountain until I was left alone with Gloin and all the Iron Hills dwarves not capable for one reason or another of aiding in the repairs. All seemed well enough, I supposed; I spoke with Gloin of his wife and his son, of how happy he would be to see them again soon, and tried periodically to involve the other dwarves, though they gave me only cursory, respectful answers when I asked them anything and most didn’t even look me in the face. Suddenly, though, the mountain seemed to start quaking.

                Noise exploded outside, shrieks and horns and other things I couldn’t name, arrows twanging and swords clashing. I jolted. Gloin did as well, a certain fear painting his face as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted to the ledge above the closed gate where he could see what was happening. His next words as good as froze my blood.

                “There’s a war out there! Orcs are attacking the elves and men; Gandalf’s there,” he said, yelling as he ran from the ledge to keep from being hit by the arrows that flew wide. “We need to find Thorin and Dain; they’ll be overrun in no time without our army too, and those coming from the Blue Mountains will be slaughtered.” His wife and son would be among them, I knew that, as would Fili and Kili’s mother. I wondered how long we had.

                “You’ll have to find them; I’ve no sense for the stone. I’ll go into the treasury and see if I can find armor,” I said, and he nodded, rushing down the tunnel where the others had gone as I nearly flew into the treasury, yanking out every piece of armor I could find, however damaged or simply ornamental it looked, hoping I would find enough that was good for my dwarves at least. The dwarves remaining in the front hall were suddenly livelier than I’d ever seen them, nervous voices filling the air as they wondered what, precisely, was happening and why it was happening and I only barely fought the urge to curse towards the sky because we had enough troubles without a war to add to them.

                I’d thought getting the elves and the men to leave peacefully would prevent this. I’d thought the orcs were a past threat, unable to organize something so complex as a full war. The continuing noise outside told me otherwise; they must’ve been waiting for the dragon to be killed, had probably decided to take out the armies of the elves and the men before they stormed the unsuspecting Erebor, and the elves and men had pushed them back here, given us at least a moment’s warning. Although, I imagined that had been more Gandalf than anything; Thranduil and Bard had no loyalty to us, and I saw no reason why they should’ve. I tried desperately to not think of it too much, knowing that if I did I would be as good as worthless.

                Pounding feet came close; Gloin must’ve found them. I heard Thorin’s voice first, loud and strong and booming, before I heard any others, and I was certain that mad as he was he would be able to handle this; after all, he’d been eager enough for war earlier. But no, no, no, he did not set them to arms, did not rally them to fight.

                “Be silent!” he yelled, “Let them fight their war. If any live when the last of the men and the elves fall, we will deal with them before they enter here.” The chest plate I held clattered to the ground. I ran from the treasury and he swept me into his arms, clutching me close. “I am sorry to have left you alone,” he whispered, and I shook my head.

                “I’m alright, but why won’t you help them?” I asked, quiet, and he tilted his head.

                “Was it not you who didn’t wish for war?” I stiffened; was this because of me? Was I why he didn’t wish to fight?

                “I do not, but they shouldn’t have to die to protect your… our home. We didn’t bring about this war; it is the orcs.” He frowned, squeezing me more firmly to him, and seemed about to speak again when his frown deepened and he squeezed me again, the Arkenstone digging into the bones of my ribs.

                “What is in your pocket?” he asked, and I felt suddenly as Gollum must’ve in the goblin caves. No, no, no, how could this get worse? He didn’t give me the opportunity to answer, to think of something he might’ve believed; he shoved me back, hands going under the coat he’d given me and pawing there roughly until they closed about the stone and I clenched my eyes closed. He froze, drawing it from my coat, holding it warily in his hands, surprise painting every line of his expression. “Bilbo?”

                “I’m sorry, Thorin,” I managed, and he shoved me away, eyes wide and burning.

                “You are a traitor,” he said, a dwarf coming to a sudden, cold realization. The company stood stiff and still not too far away from us, Kili’s gaze almost certainly the most terrified of them all.

                “Uncle,” he began, almost certainly planning to turn his anger from me, but Thorin only growled.

                “I asked for silence!” he yelled at the boy, head jerking to look at him once before he turned back to me, stepping nearer again, taking me by the chin with the hand not clutching the Arkenstone. “Oh the _lies_ that hide behind the most innocent of eyes. How else have you _betrayed_ me, Burglar? Did you think that I would not _care_ , that your pretty face would make me forgive you for this, keep you still at my side? I should kill you now, so that no others will fall for your little tricks the moment you bat your eyes sweetly enough. I am king! Why should I stand for _you_ making a fool of me, stealing my treasures the moment I offer you _trust_?” I shivered in his grasp, but still anger struck my like an arrow to the heart. I met his eyes, afraid but knowing he would either kill me or he wouldn’t; nothing I or anyone said would change his mind.

                Not even Kili could bring himself to look when I opened my mouth; he and Fili instead clutched at each other, closing their eyes. The rest of the Company did the same, surely not able to see all we had done amount to nothing but this.

                “You are no king, Thorin, not anymore, because you are not the dwarf you were when I swore to follow you. The true king was the dwarf at my dinner table, the dwarf who laughed with his company, the dwarf who cared more for _home_ than any silly rock. You are not that dwarf. You… you are a gold sick fool. Kill me for speaking that truth if you will, but that will make it no less true.” He laughed, bitter and raspy as death, and let his calloused thumb stroke the skin of my cheek.

                “I was nothing then, a king in only name, not even worthy to court a deceitful thing like yourself. Even you knew that. After all, you fell for me so quickly as soon as I had a kingdom behind me, and what a good actor you are! I almost could’ve believed you truly loved me!” I tried to shake my head, but he held my chin too tightly.

                “You are wrong, oh King under the Mountain. I loved and still love the Thorin who you say had so little to offer, never you as you are now. I agreed to marry you only in the hopes that I could bring him back. The Thorin I love would never do the awful things that you have. He would never break a promise, never hurt his nephews, never place material things above the Company who was loyal to him above any other, and now, when it matters, he would never lie down and let another fight his battles for him. You may wear a crown now, but you’re less a dwarf and less a king than he ever was.” He didn’t speak. His frown deepened. His grip tightened so much that I feared he’d break my jaw.

                “Ugly words from such a pretty thing,” he whispered. “But still too pretty to simply kill. I imagine some time alone will do you well, dearest Burglar. I will go fight this battle I was once too weak to fight, and when I return, perhaps you will be more willing to change the tune you sing. If not, I’m sure I could find someone who’d love to keep you.” He moved his hand, grabbing my hair instead and starting to drag me off, towards the chambers he’d taken me to the day before.

                “Uncle!” Kili yelled, rushing forwards only to be slapped away with the hand that held the Arkenstone. Still from the ground he spoke. “Do this and I will not follow you. None of us will. Just let him go, Uncle, let him leave if you don’t want him dead.” Thorin only laughed; when I looked in his eyes, I saw nothing I recognized, only frozen anger and pain and desperation.

                “Why should it matter to me if such a puerile, worthless thing as you doesn’t follow me? You are weak; the hobbit must be punished for his crimes, and though the punishment warrants death, there are more fitting things to be done.”

                “You wanted to marry him not even an hour ago.”

                “An hour ago I was blind. He is a traitor, and a liar, and a thief. No matter what I believed I felt, I will not be called so weak a king as to let him walk free. Go, Kili. Find yourself some armor and weapons. We fight.” I tried to look at Kili, to get across that I would still be alright, that I would get away somehow, but Thorin dragged me away too quickly. I’ve never felt such agony in my heart as then, when he threw me unceremoniously into a small, dark bedroom and locked the door behind him. The mountain, I couldn’t help but think, shook with more than only war. 

* * *

 

                I was only in the claustrophobic, windowless space for perhaps twenty minutes before the door unlocked and Kili swept inside, dressed in armor that looked far too large for him. He took me by the wrist and made as if he were going to drag me out after him, but I shook my head, planting myself where I stood so he could only drag me a foot or two.

                “Bilbo, come _on_. Uncle will notice me gone soon enough; it’s only the size of the army that let me get away to begin with, and he will make it a point to keep an eye out for me.”

                “Go back alone, Kili, and close the door behind you. Keep it unlocked, but close it. Don’t let anyone know where I am or that you saw me.”

                “You’re really just going to wait here?” I shook my head again.

                “I will get out, only not right now. Thank you for this, Kili, for everything, truly; you and all the others have been better friends to me than I ever could’ve asked for or deserved, but I will not see you hurt for me, and Thorin is worse now than ever. Go; I’ll be alright, I swear that, and you know I don’t break my promises. I’m going to fix this mess; live for me and see it happen.” He looked almost ready to cry again, but he must’ve seen something in my face that kept him from arguing. Instead he only nodded, hugged me once as tightly as he was able, and stepped towards the door.

                “I’ll tell the others that the last I saw you, you were breathing, so they don’t worry too much. Try and see us again if you can,” he whispered, and I nodded, watching as he left and closed the door behind him as I asked. I checked to make certain it remained unlocked and found that it was before I undid the pattern of braids, though I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of Thorin’s ring around my neck, or his beads, which I slipped into my pocket where the Arkenstone had been. Then, though… then I started planning, however little I could plan for what I would need to do.

                First, I had to get the Arkenstone back from Thorin again; he certainly wouldn’t have let it leave his side when he left to fight. Then I needed to get it somewhere else, somewhere safe, somewhere away from him, perhaps to Thranduil or to Bard, for neither would ever dream of giving it back. After that… after that, I needed to find a way to end the war before any of the company were hurt too severely; perhaps Gandalf could aid me in that. And finally… finally I would have to get away, go back to the Shire and hope for a letter with good news from Kili or one of the others.

                It was simple to see that I could offer no help to Thorin, after all; if anything, I’d served only to make him worse than he had been, to accelerate the pace of the gold sickness that had taken him. Perhaps in peace, though, without me around, without the Arkenstone anywhere near, he could be returned to the way he had been, and though I would surely never be allowed in the mountain again, at least… at least the dwarves would be happy, and I had never wanted anything more than I wanted that. I swallowed, staring at the door. This was the last chance I’d have to put things right, I knew that. If I failed, everything would be over, one way or another. I took one last deep breath and slipped my ring from my pocket and onto my finger. The world around me turned hazy and unclear as it always did when I made use of the ring.

                I left slowly, only barely managing to find my way outside from the room, clutching a dagger I’d grabbed from the treasury so tightly that the gems in the hilt made my hand ache. The noise of the battle was deafening, and the sight of such death made my stomach twist in on itself. Elves and men and dwarves all banded together against the Orcish horde; I wondered why a battle was always necessary for that to occur. I tried to keep my breath silent even though I knew how unlikely it was that any of them could hear me or would even care about breath sounds in the middle of the battle, and looked about for Thorin. Still, it was difficult to see anything in the fray of battle, much less a single dwarf who certainly wouldn’t be standing still.

                There was no option but to find him, though, and so I set about searching, ducking under blades and cutting at orcs as deeply as I could when I passed them. Finally, when I thought I would surely never see him, I did; he stood at the center of a circle of particularly vicious looking orcs, Dwalin fighting at it side. I came at them from behind, saw the bulge of the stone in his outer coat, and prayed that my hand would be swift enough to take it without him feeling it, or, barring that, that my feet could carry me away before he closed his hand around a coat he couldn’t see. I lunged forward, caught an orc in the back of the knee with my dagger, and slipped my hand into Thorin’s coat, stealing the Arkenstone away for a second time. I was lucky; he swung his blade the moment I touched his coat, and the fabric swung out wide, let me take it without even nearing his skin. I still ran away as quick as I was able, hoping against hope that it would be enough.

                Thranduil, by comparison, was simple to find; I expect the elk had something to do with it, as it had managed to clear rather a large circle around its master, who swung his long blade wide and graceful and easy towards the orcs, gaze imperious. I ducked into the circle and pulled the ring from my finger and watched Thranduil go wide-eyed for but a moment, only barely stopping himself before his blade struck me, at which point he only caught me by the back of my coat and hauled me onto the elk with him.

                “Hobbit?” he called over the battle noises, cutting down the orc that had gone for me the moment I’d made myself visible, and I nodded, momentarily unable to speak. “I’d thought the dwarf would’ve kept you in the mountain.”

                “I stole the Arkenstone and he found it on me. I’ve stolen it again, and I’d like to give it to you if you swear to me it’ll never touch his hands again.” I believe that was the first and last time I ever said anything to surprise an elf.

                “You _what?_ ” I held the Arkenstone out to him. He let his elk kick at the orcs that suddenly tried to flood us at the sight of it, and struck out at them with his sword almost absentmindedly.

                “It darkens his heart,” I whispered, “I can’t see that happen anymore. I trust that you’ll keep it away and make certain it doesn’t fall into unpleasant hands.”

                “He will kill you for this if he sees you again, hobbit,” he said, as if I didn’t know, and I could only laugh.

                “I know, but I… I love him too much to care. Please, Lord Thranduil, I will never again ask anything more of you than this.” He looked faintly curious, shaking his head and gently lifting the stone from my hand, tucking it deeply into his own robe.

                “You are most certainly a hobbit,” he said, faintly bemused. “It has been a very long time since I have met any so kindhearted, and willing to do so much for a friend who will not be able to appreciate it. I can offer only my hope that he will thank you for this one day, and my own thanks for what you did for my people when he wanted only our blood. You may call yourself elf-friend with pride, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, and know that if ever you need aid, only come to me and I will do what I can. Besides, under better circumstances I should like to know how it was you managed to move through my dungeons undetected for so long; that ring could not have done it all. Ah, which does remind me; do be careful with that ring. I can think of no one better to bear it, but you ought to know that this stone you’ve given me is not the only evil thing you carry.”  

                “Thank you,” I whispered, and he only shook his head.

                “I’m afraid I’m more suited to say that for now, Master Baggins. Is there anyone else you wish to see?”

                “Gandalf,” I said, and he nodded.

                “Then as my final gift I will bring you to him. It would not do if you suffered an ill fate before your quest had ended.” I let myself laugh, quiet and quick and breathless still, and he turned the massive beast on which we road towards, I supposed, Gandalf, though how the elf knew where he was I simply couldn’t divine. Still I was grateful when he dropped me at the Wizard’s feet, even if he didn’t stay for long enough to answer Gandalf’s surprise.

                “Bilbo Baggins!” he called, magic at his fingertips to hold the orcs at bay, and I offered the best smile I could manage from where I stood at his side.

                “Gandalf,” I panted, and he laughed, wild and wizardly as ever.

                “It is good to see you again, my friend, though I’d prefer better circumstances. Kili managed to tell me of some of the troubles you’d suffered; what have you come to me for?”

                “Tell me what I might do to win this war for us,” I said, and he blinked, tilting his head until his face was partly shadowed by his hat and blasting away at the orcs.

                “You might follow Thorin; he marches into a trap as we speak,” he said, jerking his head towards a different hill where a signal stood. “I’ve called for aid; disable that signal and keep him and those who followed him alive if you can.” I nodded; I’d have to stay hidden, but if I could do that… if I could do that, keep him living until Gandalf’s aid arrived, then… then perhaps everything would be alright. Gandalf could talk to him, find some way to stop the gold sickness, and I would get my happy letter back in the Shire even if Erebor’s doors remained closed to me. I nodded once, firm, and ran towards where he’d gestured, slipping my ring on as I went and remembering too clearly what Thranduil had said and hoping against hope that the damned ring would not make me fall before this battle ended.

* * *

 

                I caught up to Thorin and the three who’d come with him, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin, when they’d made it halfway up the hill, and the silence assured me of Gandalf’s words: this was a trap. The orcs would not have left this signal so unguarded if there were none lying in wait for the ones who went for it. I stood behind them all, picking up smallish rocks and hoping I’d be able to distract whatever orcs there were long enough to give the dwarves a fighting chance. Even I, who was expecting them, was surprised when the three orcs appeared like ghosts, the pale orc Azog leading them. I threw my stones, still hidden by my ring, and caught them with my dagger when I was able, though in the end I found my focus fixed on Azog, who only Thorin fought, rather than the other two who Fili, Kili, and Dwalin attacked. I thought for a moment that they would be alright, until Azog’s wickedly pointed blade of an arm caught Thorin in the belly and he fell. I ran for him without a thought, jumping as high as I was able to try and catch him in the throat with my dagger, but instead I dealt only a glancing blow.

                At least it distracted him from Thorin, who lay still on the ground, and gave the other three the opportunity to deal with the other two orcs. I tried again. Azog, even unable to see me, swung his arm out and struck my chest, sending me flying. My head struck stone and I stood dazedly, not noticing the ring slipping from my finger. I only barely managed to catch it and tuck it back in my pocket before I ran at Azog again, desperation in my every move as Fili, Kili, and Dwalin saw me and started trying to help. Thorin didn’t move. I couldn’t help but think the worst. I was knocked away again, and the three who fought yelled for me to find somewhere to hide. I was hazy-minded, unsure of where to go or what to do, and barely felt it when Azog tried to deal me a similar blow as Thorin and was impeded only by the mithril mail.

                Finally, though, their words sunk in and I started looking for a place, eventually catching sight of a small cave into which I dragged Thorin. His eyes were closed, blood spilling freely from the wound, but he still breathed at least and I tugged my own coat free to wrap it tightly around the injury and to hopefully staunch the blood. I prayed nothing vital had been hit as I watched the three dwarves battle Azog, watched as he eventually fell and the same three dwarves crowded into the cave with us. No one spoke; there were no words to say. I had done what I set out to do at last, but it did not feel like victory. Perhaps twenty minutes passed in that dead silence until Kili spoke.

                “Uncle said the Arkenstone was gone,” he murmured, and I nodded.

                “It is. I hope you understand that I cannot say where it is.”

                “I wouldn’t ask you to. Uncle was very angry. Do you want to leave before he wakes up again? We won’t mention you were here.” I shook my head.

                “No. I need to at least see if he lives. I’ll be alright still, don’t worry over that. Gandalf knows I’m here.”

                “That won’t mean much if Uncle kills you before he gets a chance to come up here.”

                “I’ll be alright,” I said again, because I could think of nothing else to say, and he let out a desperate, sad sort of laugh. His brother threw his arm over his shoulder, while Dwalin alternated between staring out into the expanse of white outside and holding my coat over Thorin’s wound when my arms started aching. Eventually, the boys fell into a fitful sleep, tired and afraid and in relative safety as they were, and Dwalin found his voice again.

                “I told him that you were right,” he said, low and rumbling. “Before we left to fight. I told him that you were right about him never being less of a king than he is now. I think some of the others did as well. I don’t know if it mattered. You should go, you know. He might not give you the chance.”

                “I don’t care,” I said, surprised that I meant it, joining him in staring out at the endless white fields of snow. “Did you know that you all are perhaps some of the only true friends I have? You’re certainly the best. I was… I did not know it while I was there, but I was terribly lonely in the Shire. I had some, of course, a few who would visit every now and then, my gardener who came by most days, but mostly I was… I was alone. That was my home, but it was empty and cold with no one to share it and nothing inside but shrines to those long ago passed. This is the first thing I’ve ever done that’s truly meant anything, and you all… you all are the best thing that has ever happened to me. If I’m to die here, at least it’ll be for a good reason. At least Thorin won’t be troubled by the Arkenstone any longer. At least you’ll all still have a chance to free him from his sickness.” Dwalin didn’t look at me, but I could see the shimmer of liquid on his cheeks. I didn’t comment on it. He didn’t either. I was only glad that the boys were sleeping.

                Thorin shifted then, very slowly, his eyes opening as if the lids were made of lead, and I saw with a sudden shock that they were clearer than they’d been in days.

                “That’s the second time you’ve jumped in front of an Orcish blade for me, Bilbo,” he whispered, voice raspy, and I felt myself beginning to cry though I fought it desperately.

                “I did not do so well this time,” I said, and he managed a laugh though it obviously hurt.

                “I’ve felt worse. I do not know why you keep saving my life, though, Bilbo. I have… I have proven more than once that it is not worth saving.”

                “Don’t say that,” I murmured, and he shook his head.

                “Why not, when it is truth? I have done nothing but hurt you; even Dwalin sees that, you can but look at his face and tell. I am the fool you both called me. There is a saying among my people, when someone has done something like this, that that person has missed the gleam of mithril for the shine of silver. I can’t help but feel that I’ve done that and more. I have no right to ask for forgiveness from any of you again, after what I’ve done.” He stared up at the roof of the cave, hands across his chest, and cried, silent and distant, and I couldn’t help but settle a hand in his hair.

                “I would grant it to you even still. It will take… there must be time, Thorin, but I did not lie when I said that… that I loved you when you were this way, when you were but yourself. The rest of the company… I expect that will take time too, but it will… we can survive this just as we’ve survived everything else. You mustn’t live the rest of your life feeling nothing but guilt.” He laughed again, and Dwalin settled a heavy hand on his chest to keep him still, frown heavy on his face. Thorin’s laughter faded into tears so suddenly that Fili and Kili jolted awake, the both of them edging into the tight cluster Dwalin, Thorin, and I had made, gazing warily at their Uncle as if they feared a trick.

                Thorin wept harder at the sight of Kili. Both Dwalin and I kept pressure on his wound, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t start bleeding heavily again with the exertion, and Thorin whispered apologies over and over as his nephews settled above him, hope and fear and forgiveness and a million other things twisting over their faces until at last they cried as well, hugging him and each other as best they were able and almost certainly hoping as much as I did that this return to sanity was not a temporary one. We sat like that for some time, Thorin begging forgiveness and is nephew granting it over and over until I saw the sun begin to set and heard the eagles flying, saw one settle outside our cave.

                Going back to Erebor on the eagle’s back with all the others was a blur; I remember little beyond all of us being taken inside and treated, Thorin being carried somewhere far away while the rest of us remained in the great hall. I do recall the surprise of walking into Erebor again, when I’d thought the doors would never be open to me after what I’d done, and I recall that it was a warm night spent curled in a pile with all of my other dwarves, each of them caught between shock and joy at seeing me again. The next morning, when a dwarf I didn’t recognize came and told me that Thorin was asking for me, was far clearer, if only because of the tension, the faint fear, over what he wished to see me for. My only coherent thought was a hope that he had not fallen back into the gold sickness overnight.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's a little shorter, but hey, at least it's up, I guess, and only a couple hours off from Wednesday! I'll have a full one again next week, and it'll likely be the last chapter of this.

I followed the strange dwarf deep into the mountain and into what I assumed were the royal chambers where Thorin lay propped on a truly enormous bed, blessedly clear gaze fixed on the ceiling and hands crossed over his lap. He didn’t seem to notice me much when I came in, at least not until I spoke, and that made him jolt upright, pain flashing for the barest instant across his expression.

                “You wanted to see me, Thorin?” I asked, and he nodded once, quick enough that had he been anyone else I might’ve thought he was frightened. It was a bit funny, in a way, how he still seemed so unshakable to me, after all I’d seen him suffer and succumb to recently. I wanted to laugh, and I wanted to cry, and I wasn’t entirely certain which, if either, was appropriate, so instead I just dropped into the chair beside his bed. “Settle, please. I’m sure you’re very hurt, and I expect Oin wouldn’t appreciate all his work being reversed so quickly.” He chuckled. Even that looked as if it hurt him, and silence flooded the room, thick and heavy as any armor.

                “I’m sorry, Bilbo,” he said, sudden and jarring after the quiet. He couldn’t seem to meet my eyes. I took his hand and he jerked but didn’t pull away.

                “You… were not yourself,” I whispered in response, and he only laughed again. It wasn’t a happy laugh. I could recall but a very few, very precious moments when I’d heard him laugh with real pleasure.

                “I’d almost expected the one I sent to find you to return and tell me you’d gone, that the others had spirited you away so that you would be safe from me.” I tried a smile, but even I know it didn’t quite translate correctly from thought to real expression. It certainly didn’t comfort him, at the very least, which was what it had been intended to do.

                “What is there to fear? You are my friend, Thorin, always. I do not care what you did while under the thrall of the gold; perhaps I was frightened then, but I was not frightened of you as you are, only you as you were.” He looked tired, desperately, deeply, completely tired all the way down to his bones. That I could understand; I felt much the same, and had for some time. I wondered how long it would take to get all the dust from my bed back at the Shire. I ought to have asked Hamfast to dust for me every now and again before I’d left.

                “You don’t understand, Bilbo, I remember everything I felt then, everything I did, how _right_ it all felt. I would have forced you to _marry_ me before the Arkenstone, I thought you were as much my property as it, as if I had some sort of claim over you simply because you travelled with me. I would have done worse afterwards, things for which I’d have once tossed any dwarf in the dungeons for, and shorn off his beard for good measure. I do not deserve this, to still be treated as if I’m a king, to have the company worry after me and forgive me. I especially do not deserve your forgiveness, nor Kili’s, and yet the both of you have offered it freely.” He said it with as much surety as he said anything, and something in my chest tightened; the guilt on his face was obvious, darkening his eyes and sharpening the lines in his face. He did not look as if he’d slept in some time, even now that he was safe and well again.

                “You are Kili’s uncle, Thorin; he loves you, and he admires you, and I love you as well. The whole company does, in different ways. You have apologized to us, and no one would doubt your sincerity; you cannot change what you have done, and as I said, all will not be the same as it was immediately, but with your words, your actions… our total trust would not be hard to regain again, Thorin. I’ve no doubt that you will be a fine king.” He did not look as if he believed me. In fact, he looked more as if the fact of us loving him, trusting him, was the entirety of the problem.

                “But I am not _worth_ -,” he began, and a little frustration struck me.

                “Hush. I assure you that I’ve no qualms over telling you what of mine you are worth, and I expect the company is much the same. If I say that I love you, then I have given that love freely, and the same goes for my trust and for my forgiveness. Do not speak as if you know my thoughts, Thorin Oakenshield.” He offered a faint smile, squeezing my hand but once and seeming to relax faintly into the pillows.

                “I am hardly worth that name anymore either; it was a name given for my honor and for my strength, and by now I have surely thrown them both out of the mountain. A name such as that is better suited to you now, I think; Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, wielder of Sting, barrel-rider, ambassador to elves and to men, and savior of kings barely fit enough to stand, let alone to rule.” I offered another smile of my own, this one softer, more real, falling more simply into place. He settled further. The world suddenly seemed alright again, where for so long it had seemed a strange, tumble down mess I simply couldn’t fix no matter how hard I tried to do it. His hand felt warm and solid in mine, a comfortable sort of weight.

                “That’s a bit too much of a mouthful, I’m afraid. I think I shall stick with calling myself but Bilbo Baggins; it is, after all, the name I was born bearing. I still don’t know how in the world my father convinced my mother to call me that, though.” He raised his brows, managing a chuckle instead of only a smile now.

                “Oh? It seems nice enough a name to me, though I suppose I lack knowledge on hobbit names. Perhaps one appropriate to a dwarf is entirely unacceptable to a hobbit.” I shook my head, feeling bright and light and honestly rather happy for the first time in a very long time. I could not resist the thought that all would be well, given time and effort. Then again, I often felt that way.

                “Oh, no, it’s a perfectly hobbit-y name; it’s similar to my father Bungo’s, you see, a bit of a derivation of it, so I suppose that’s why she ultimately agreed to it, but she told me often that she’d wanted to name me after my great grand uncle, Bandobras. She admired him very much, you see; there are even some men in Bree who consider him a hero, so I’m sure you can imagine how fondly we hobbits looked upon him!”  

                “I don’t believe I’ve heard of him,” he said, turning his gaze up to me and meeting my eyes again for the first time in a while, and I nodded, settling myself, keeping hold of his hand.

                “I wouldn’t have expected you to; he never fought anywhere expect in the Shire, after all. My mother was the first to travel far from there. Once, though, a very long time ago, a band of goblins led by the goblin king of the time attacked the Shire, and the hobbits were very unprepared for such. Bandobras was a special sort of hobbit, though, the tallest hobbit ever born, even able to ride a horse instead of a pony, and he rather liked fighting, or at least he’d earned his nickname ‘Bullroarer.’ He led everyone into battle. Knocked the goblin king’s head clean off with a wooden club, he did, and sent it sailing off into a rabbit hole, inventing golf and winning the battle for us all at once. That’s how the story goes, at least. I expect it’s been embellished a bit with time.”

                “That reminds me more of some dwarven stories I’ve heard than hobbit tales.”

                “Well, none would ever claim that Bandobras Took was a particularly hobbit-y hobbit; very few Tooks are, really, though they are quite respected, given that the Thain is always a Took. My grandfather holds the position right now, actually; he’s a good friend of Gandalf’s as well, as my mother was.” He tilted his head, looking faintly confused, squeezing my hand a little tighter.

                “Is the Thain like a king for hobbits?” he asked, and I frowned a bit, not entirely certain as to how to answer.

                “Not really; more a military leader, traditionally, and he looks after many of the goings on to make certain everything runs smoothly in west farthing, but we’ve also got the mayor, and the master of Buckland. It is a very important role, though, and perhaps the most respected of the three where I lived, as the mayor’s more a figurehead and the master of Buckland cares for a different area.” He fell quiet for a few moments, and didn’t loosen his grip on my hand. I wondered how he yet had such strength in his grasp after all his injuries.

                “I suppose you’ll be taking that over then,” he said, quiet, and I blinked, unable to resist laughing aloud.

                “Me? Oh dear, certainly not! My cousin Fortinbras is the next in line for that! I’m a Baggins, you recall, not a Took, and even if my mother had kept her own last name and given it to me, she was still not the eldest child. I’d not want it anyway, truly; I’ve a bit of a reputation as a recluse, and that simply wouldn’t do for the Thain of the Shire, as his parties are quite renowned.” His hand went a little lax, then, still holding mine but not near as tightly. I didn’t mention it.

                “I would ask then that you stay here for a time, Bilbo. Perhaps not forever, if you don’t wish it, but... a while, at least, to give me the time to redeem myself in your eyes. I would like to prove worthy of your love for me, and to prove my own for you in a way not so foolish as before.” I swallowed, this time glancing away myself; I’d perhaps dreaded this, in a way, though I hadn’t entirely expected it, and I knew still that it could easily ring false. I had, after all, done much for him, and I had told him of my own feelings, so I knew well how easy it could be for his own gratefulness and his feelings of friendship to fool him into thinking he was in love. I would not consign him to such a relationship when he realized that his feelings were not what he thought; he needed time to think, just as I did, but still what I planned to say felt crueler than I wished.

                “That would not be the best idea right now, I don’t think,” I whispered, and he stiffened.

                “What?”

                “I expect it would be best if I went back to the Shire for now, actually, for a time. I’ve missed much in my time away, you know, and there are many I’m eager to see again. At the least I’d need to go get all of my affairs in order, in case you wish for me to return some time.” He frowned.

                “Of course I wish for you to return, Bilbo. I wish for you to _stay_.” I chuckled again, nodding.

                “I know, but still I don’t think that would be the wisest thing to do for now. We both need some time to think, I imagine, some time to get all the emotions in order. Only know that I don’t do this out of anger; even if I thought I ought to stay now, I’d still have to go. I can’t simply let Bag End fall to whomever now, can I? I spent long enough looking after it that I should like to know it ends up with someone I care for.” He nodded, still looking unsure and faintly unhappy, but he didn’t argue, likely feeling yet too guilty to manage it.

                “I ask only that you tell me what it is you think I need to think about, and that you have an escort on your way back. I’ll have a party made for you, perhaps with Dwalin or Fili and Kili at the head; I’d not feel safe with you wandering back alone now, it being so cold and there almost certainly being orcs lingering on the main roads to anywhere.” I smiled, and didn’t argue myself though I didn’t expect I’d really need as many dwarves as he likely planned on sending, as I thought he deserved at least that much cooperation from me.

                “Think of me, and what you believe you feel. If, after you’ve thought on it, it’s true, you need only ask me to come back and I shall. Gandalf can tell you where to send letters, should you wish it; I’d like the rest of the company to have that as well, of course.” He blinked, likely not understanding precisely what I meant but nodding anyway.

                “I will do as you asked, but I can assure you now that I will feel the same whether a day passes or a year.” It was a pleasant thought. I bent down, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to his lips, and he tried to chase after me for another, but I pressed a hand light to the center of his chest to hold him still.

                “Be careful, Thorin. I wish for good news in my letters, not news of you only making yourself forever bedridden because you refused to allow yourself to heal now.” He managed another smile, his eyes beginning to droop faintly.

                “If that’s what you wish, then you’ll have it,” he murmured, and I squeezed his hand one more time.

                “I’ll stay until tomorrow, alright? So I can have a good, fresh start in the morning. You rest for now, won’t you?” He hummed, eyes drooping further, and I expected that was about as good an answer as I was going to get.

                “Stay with me for a while?” he eventually managed, when I thought of standing, and good idea or not, I couldn’t find it in myself to refuse that.

                “Of course,” I said, settling again, keeping his hand in mine, and his face softened so much that I almost couldn’t believe it. I didn’t have to wait long before he fell into a deep, restful sleep that I was grateful to see, and it wasn’t long after that before I was ushered from the room by the one who’d brought me down and escorted back to the rest of the company, who looked to be waiting with bated breath. I couldn’t hold back a little laugh at the sight of them, and that settled them right away.

                “He’s still alright then?” Dwalin asked, gruff as ever and perhaps not entirely willing to show again the sort of emotion I’d seen in him in the little cave.

                “He is. He’s sleeping now, though; I’m sure by the end of the day he’ll have called for all of you, though. I’ve a bit of news of my own, though,” I said, realizing suddenly that the rest of the company would most definitely have no qualms about protesting my leaving. I coughed, clearing my throat. They all looked almost unnervingly interested. “I’m going back to the Shire. Not forever, perhaps, but for a while at least. I’ve much to get in order, you understand.” It was almost amazing, how quickly their expressions turned from pleased to somewhat annoyed. What was perhaps more impressive was how in unison it was; I vaguely wondered if they’d practiced that before I had to stop imagining it for fear of bursting into laughter.

                “But you’re coming back, right?” Kili asked, “You’re just going to grab a few things and then travel back? We could send someone to get what you want, you know.” I managed a smile, but that only made Kili frown more deeply.

                “A bit longer than that, I’m afraid. Though I haven’t any immediate family of my own, there were many I missed over the course of this quest, and I should like to see them again. I will come back, though, I swear that, when Thorin has thought over a few things and I have done the same.” Fili copied his brother’s expression, his own frown going deeper, and the rest seemed not far behind.

                “Uncle didn’t say anything to you, did he?” I shook my head, lips twitching.

                “No, I suggested it, actually; he was quite against it. I won’t be going until tomorrow morning, though; I expect he’ll probably ask at least one of you to go along with me.”

                “He’d best,” Balin said, “I’m sure we all would if we were able.” I knew that was true, and such warmth filled me as I’d never really known before. I would never forget these dwarves, I decided, no matter how long I was away; truly I did not know what I could have done to be so worthy of such wonderful folk with whom to surround myself.

                It was a very happy day, from there; much music was played, and though we had little worthy of a real feast, our evening meal was plentiful, full of pleasant conversation and happiness, and, as I’d predicted, Thorin did ultimately call every individual member of the company up to speak with him, some for more time and others for less, but all of them returned pleased and seemed to know at least that Thorin was himself again. I slept comfortably among them, my belly full and my body tired, and though I was still tired the next morning when I awoke for my goodbyes, it was not the sort of bone weary it had been before.

                I exchanged many hugs, that morning, and made many assurances that I would be safe on my way back, and that I would write, and that, yes, Gandalf would most definitely tell them how to write to me too, and eventually was allowed to actually step from the mountain, Dwalin having been chosen to go along with me, much to the consternation of a few of the others who knew well enough what they’d be doing in the mountain, and who wanted the final opportunity to spend some time with me before I was so far away again. I almost thought it funny how safe I felt on the road, after spending so much time on it. I wondered how I’d ever manage to live in but a single place again, and chuckled to myself, pack a comfortable weight on my back and Dwalin a familiar presence at my side.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, about this being a full chapter? And the last one? Yeah, sorry about that; I don't really have an excuse this time beyond laziness, but hey, since when is that anything new, am I right? Anyhow, I hope you enjoy despite that, and the next one will really, seriously be the last one, promise!

                We road long and hard on a direct path to the Shire, encountering only one stray pack of orcs despite Thorin’s insistence that there would surely be hundreds of them roaming the main roads, as if the men and elves riding back to their own homes would have simply let them be and gone by them. Only a few members of the group beyond Dwalin were willing to chat with me, but I’d learned enough of dwarves that I knew asking about it wouldn’t help me much. Even still, the ride home was pleasant, and when I saw the Shire’s rolling hills and green fields again, I couldn’t resist my glee. I spurred my pony faster, Dwalin racing after me on his own while the rest of the dwarven party waited on the Shire’s outskirts, heading directly for Bag End.

                I didn’t expect what I found there, honestly, but perhaps I should have; my things were being auctioned off. I stopped the pony, gaping at the sight, and Dwalin rode up behind me with equal confusion on his face, thick brows raised high.

                “This common practice around here?” he asked, and I frowned.

                “I should say not! Excuse me! Yes, hello, I should like you to stop selling my property, thank you!” I said, hopping from the pony and striding to the auctioneer, hands on my hips, and all the wild activity shuddered to a stop at the sight of me, and, of course, my rather larger, more intimidating companion.

                “Bilbo? Bilbo, we thought you surely lost! Where in the world have you been?” the auctioneer, a hobbit I faintly recognized from however long ago, asked, confusion painting his face, and I realized suddenly how difficult such a question was to answer.

                “Here and there,” I finally managed, “I expect everyone will hear that story soon enough, perhaps tomorrow if anyone cares to drop by. For now, however, I would very much like my things to be put back in my home.” It was a mad dash to do it, most flying inside with whatever they’d bought while a few, namely Lobelia, scampered off with smaller things tucked in their clothes. I sighed. Dwalin climbed from his pony to stand beside me, jerking his head towards Lobelia where she ran towards her own home.

                “I think she made off with your spoons; I remember Fili bent that big one in her belt.” I nodded, drifting away a bit on my own thoughts; it wouldn’t be much trouble to get them back, perhaps only a trip to her home with Fortinbras in tow, and possibly someone to confirm that the little crest on them was, in fact, of the Tooks and not the Bagginses.

                “She always did like my mother’s silver,” I murmured, watching as all my furniture was returned to its rightful place.

                “Should I go get them back?”

                “Oh, no, don’t worry over it. I assure you it’s not the first time she’s snuck them off.” He nodded, vaguely bemused, and I invited him inside once the crowd had gone. As I’d expected, everything was terribly dusty, but a bit better for having been moved around and the door being opened for presumably most of the day, but the familiarity of it still comforted me. I smiled, Dwalin standing by the door almost guardedly, and fell into my chair.

                “Shall I demolish your pantry again?” he asked, quiet, and I laughed, gesturing for him to sit if he chose, but he decided instead to remain where he was.

                “If anything is still in there after so long, you may most definitely have it, as I will certainly not touch it. Ah, you do have enough to get you back to Erebor, don’t you? If not we can run to my gardener’s, I’m sure he’d have something to give, and-,” he held out his hands, stopping me, mouth twitching faintly.

                “Mahal spare me being mothered by a hobbit less than half my size,” he said, as teasing as he ever was, and I grinned back up at him.

                “Give it a week or two and you’ll be missing it; you’ve become accustomed, after all.” A certain sadness flickered over his face for the barest instant, until it was replaced again by amusement.

                “I’ve changed my mind. I would rather be spared hobbits who are too smart for their own good and who will be far too pleased to hear of being right in the coming months.”

                “Given time I’m sure you’ll miss that as well,” I said, tilting my head towards him, and he offered another faint smile.

                “I only hope you don’t give me that much time, Bilbo, nor any of us. Will you tell me honestly why you feel as if you have to do this? I swear, if Thorin did say something, I’ll take a club to his dense skull until he sees reason again; it wouldn’t be the first time I’d had to do so.” I managed a chuckle, shaking my head and not at all sure whether he’d been joking with any of that or entirely serious.

                “I only feel as if he needs to think over his feelings. He says that he loves me, but I know how simple it can be to mistake friendship for love. I told him that the moment he asked me to come back, I would return.” Dwalin only shook his head.

                “I’ve known Thorin since he and I were both children; he is an idiot, but he does love you, has for some time. I saw it before he did; hell, I’m the one he talked about it with. If that’s your only concern, you shouldn’t let it trouble you.” It was tempting, so very tempting to say my goodbyes, grab a few of my things, and return with him, but I couldn’t, his assurances or not. I needed to know that it was true, that Thorin had thought of it and hadn’t let himself be blinded by friendship and gratitude masquerading as more, just as I myself needed the time to collect my own feelings.

                “Then I will be back very soon. Thank you for seeing me home, Dwalin.” He frowned but nodded nonetheless, looking as if he were preparing to leave, before I rushed up and took him into a quick, tight hug. He returned it, and offered a head butt in return; even so obviously reduced from the usual strength of such a display of affection, it made my head ache. I’d never thought I’d appreciate a friend injuring me so much before, but now, it only warmed my heart.

                “Goodbye, Bilbo. I’m sure a letter or twelve will arrive swiftly, enquiring after your journey here.” My eyes stung, bitter tears trying to slip free, and I was almost unwilling to let go of him, but ultimately, I managed, and he left, slow and obviously not eager to do it. The sudden sensation of being alone in my home shocked me unpleasantly after so long of being away, and generally in close quarters with at least one other being.

                I paced about, cleaning and disposing of everything rotten, hoping to distract myself, but it didn’t work for very long as beyond the dust, the house wasn’t actually that dirty. Still I wandered about, looking for something to do, fiddling with pictures and vases and doilies until at last I couldn’t stand it anymore and had to walk about the town for a while, eventually simply wandering to Hamfast’s doorway without real intent, knocking politely.

                He answered the door quickly, and I saw his wife just behind him. Joy overcame me suddenly at the surprised look in their eyes, as apparently news of my return had not yet been spread this far. So shocked was he that it was ultimately his wife, holding a small, blonde haired baby boy, who had to invite me inside. I thanked her, desperate for company in a way I’d never been before, and settled at their table.

                “I looked after your garden while you were gone,” Hamfast said suddenly, and I had to laugh.

                “I noticed; thank you, Hamfast. It looks as lovely as ever.” He nodded. The baby wriggled in Bell’s arms, cooing and sighing pleasantly, and she only sighed.

                “Well, Bilbo, are you not going to tell us where you were for so long? Everyone thought that you’d… well, I shan’t dwell on that, but suffice it to say that it wasn’t a pleasant idea.” I chuckled, still looking at the baby and wondering if I’d have time to visit Primula and Drogo after I left here.

                “In a moment, perhaps; I only just got back, you know. How have the two of you been? I’m glad to see your child well; what did you call him?”

                “Samwise,” Hamfast said, proud as anything, reaching out for the child.

                “And we’ve been well,” Bell added as she passed the boy into his arms and settled in the chair beside him, “Though we’ve had little company. It hasn’t been the same without you around. We really were worried.” I nodded, reaching out towards the child, who grabbed at my finger playfully.

                “Certainly had the right to be. I’m sorry for not telling anyone I was going, but I had to catch up with the dwarves quickly, you understand.” They didn’t obviously, and so, for the first time, I fell into the tale of all that had happened, barring a few bits that were rather more personal, and they could only stare, almost disbelieving. I didn’t blame them, of course, but still I didn’t fancy the idea of them thinking I’d gone the rest of the way mad, so I slipped my coat and vest aside to show them the mithril mail coat, which shimmered pleasantly still, as if immune to dirt or tarnish. They stared. I offered a small, likely weak smile. A heavy, pregnant silence filled the room, until at last Bell set to laughing, her husband not far behind her.

                “Only you, Bilbo,” she teased, voice light, Hamfast nodding his agreement, and I laughed again, freer now, remembering why I’d missed them so terribly before. Conversation turned to lighter things, then, to easier things, which I was grateful for, as I expected I’d have to tell the story of my adventure many more times before even a week passed. It was perhaps an hour before dusk when I finally decided to leave, at which point I did make my way to Primula’s and Drogo’s home.

                They too welcomed me with shock and faint disbelief at my story, but just as before, the mithril coat proved my tale. Their child, a black haired boy named Frodo, was deposited into my lap for much of it, quiet but squirming curiously, blue eyes bright. I stayed chatting with them for long enough that I stayed in their guest room for the night, the softness of the bed actually almost preventing me from going to sleep. It was only the next morning when I realized how surprised I was to be home again, and laughed and laughed until I almost felt the need to weep with it. I was already hoping for a letter as I left their home and fetched some groceries for myself, only barely resisting the instinctive need to buy enough to feed the entirety of the company.

* * *

 

                My first letter came perhaps a week after I’d gotten home, and was from Fili and Kili, the two of them having apparently taken turns writing the letter, judging by the separate handwriting. I chuckled at the mere sight of it, messy and a bit stained and so very like the both of them that I could nearly imagine they were in the room with me. They spoke of mundane things, mostly, the work they were doing on the mountain, their mother’s return that ended in her both smacking them for being so stupid and squeezing them for coming back to her alive, Thorin’s constant attempts to help with the repairs and everything else that needed doing, and everyone else’s constant efforts to keep him lying down. They addressed it to Master Boggins, and signed it to be continued and I folded it carefully, tucking it into a drawer where I kept countless other keepsakes, unwilling to lose it. I wrote back, of course, telling them of all I’d done since my own return, asking that they try to keep out of trouble and knowing that they would listen only as far as it suited them.

                From then on, there was a constant stream of letters to my home from the dwarves, up to the point that I could identify who had sent what based only on the envelope, but never did I get a single message from the dwarf I most wished to hear from. They all mentioned him, of course, mentioned how often he spoke of me and that he seemed to miss me fiercely, but never did he send me anything. I’d almost started to think he’d forgotten, or that he’d decided that, in fact, he did feel only friendship for me and was afraid to write and say it.

                Honestly the letters were nearly all that kept me sane even still. The Shire was beautiful, of course, as beautiful as ever, but somehow it simply didn’t feel precisely like home anymore. I’d never before noticed how lonely I was there, how dull everything was; I wanted more adventure more than I wanted anything, or at least some company from people who were loud and fun and wild as the dwarves had been. The closest I managed was visits from Hamfast, who’d begun to remind me rather a lot of Gloin in his chatting about his son, but even those happened only once a week. Eventually every letter I got came with a request to come back, but I could not answer them, could not say yes no matter how I wished it. If it would make Thorin unhappy again, or uncomfortable… no, better to stay than to do that. I did offer them a bed in my home, though, every time, but they could not be spared from the repairs no matter how they wanted to see me. When the flow of letters lessened after perhaps a year had passed and ultimately nearly stopped, I became almost despondent.

                I’d been prepared to give up on ever seeing any of them again, Thorin especially, when one early morning, I heard a very loud, very familiar knock on my door. I sprang from my chair at the sound of it, heart thudding in my chest, and flew to open the door. My pounding heart stopped when I saw who was on the other side.

                Thorin was as proud as ever, dressed still in a kingly robe but lacking his furs, crown gleaming upon his head. Shameful as if feels to admit, I threw my arms around him immediately, squeezing him tightly, and was only comforted when I felt his arms settle about me as well.

                “I’ve done what you asked,” he said, voice quiet and rumbling, and a few tears mixed with my laughter.

                “Oh? And what did you find?” I asked, and his arms grew tighter.

                “A day or a year, Bilbo, that is what I told you and I found it to be truth. Still do I love you as fiercely as I ever did; that will never change. Erebor has been finished; it is finer than it ever was, and I’ve a bead and a crown waiting for you there, if you wish it. Will you come back to Erebor with me, Bilbo? Will you come home?” I smiled, bright and easy, entirely unable to resist it. He looked nervous but he kept his eyes on my face, warm and certain. I kissed him, hard and deep and passionate, trying my best to show him all I’d felt since I’d left Erebor, how much I loved him and how much I’d missed him.

                “What took you so long?” He laughed, squeezing me tighter and shaking his head.

                “I got a bit lost on the way.” I tried for but a moment to hide my amusement like that, but then I was laughing again, shaking my head, and stepping away.

                “Of course you did. We really must find you a map, Thorin. Now, let me fetch a few things, alright? And I imagine it would be good of me to tell a few people goodbye this time, and make certain my house is given to the proper hobbits.” He nodded, watching me and periodically trying to help me carry things to the ponies and the carts he’d ridden here with until I caught him at it and scolded him, after which point he only sent one of the dwarves he’d come with to help me. It felt strange, telling everyone goodbye, and stranger still offering Bag End to Hamfast and Bell, who refused it, and then to Primula and Drogo, who didn’t.

                I took a bit to enjoy the shocked looks on everyone’s faces at the sight of Thorin before we left, and how much more surprised they grew when he took me by the hand and helped me onto a pony. We rode side by side, talking and laughing and catching up, and it felt almost as if I’d never left at all, truly. I was struck suddenly with a certainty that I was, in fact, going home. What I did not expect was the party that greeted me upon my arrival, complete with a feast any hobbit would’ve drooled over and all the friends who I’d longed for in the Shire.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, so I've got to go out of town next week (for the last time until I move in August, I promise) but I'll still try to get a new chapter of something up, even if it doesn't happen on Wednesday, since I'm not entirely certain I'll have internet access where I'm going, or time to use said internet access if it does exist. Anyway, hope you all enjoy this last chapter of Gold Sick!

                Fili and Kili were the first to jump on me, their eyes bright and shining, each of their voices trying to drown out the other as they rushed to tell me everything in a matter of only moments. I couldn’t hold back my laughter and they played at offence for a moment or two before a woman strode into the room. I found her rather pretty, in a strange, severe sort of way; the line of her jaw was strong, a soft looking beard hanging short and neat from her chin, while her hair was piled intricately atop her head. She shared Thorin’s eyes, sharp and icy blue, and I knew immediately that she had to be his sister Dis; the way Fili and Kili immediately attempted to appear innocent and well-behaved only confirmed it. Her gaze fixed itself on me immediately, and I understood the boys’ urge to go stiff right away as she swept towards me, full, fine gown shifting around her feet. I did not expect her to sweep me into her arms and swing me about, but I would never say that it was an unwelcome surprise.

                “Bilbo Baggins,” she said, as if almost amazed. “I am Dis, daughter of Thrain and sister of Thorin Oakenshield. I am glad to finally meet he who has so consumed my brother’s thoughts.” I offered a smile, still faintly nervous but glad that she at least seemed open to getting to know me.

                “I’m glad to meet you as well; I’ve heard much about you, both from Thorin and from Fili and Kili.” Her laugh was sudden and booming, warmer than I might’ve expected, and her eyes shown with mirth as she let me go and moved to stand by her sons.

                “Can’t imagine they’ve told you much that left you with a good impression,” she said, sweeping Kili’s hair back from his face with one hand and brushing dust from Fili’s shoulder with the other. It was a simple gesture, but so incredibly soft, so kind, and the boys looked at her with such devotion as I’d never seen in response. Thorin shifted forwards to stand beside me, his own arm draping easily and warmly about my shoulders. I flashed him an easy smile, almost confused at how comfortable this felt.

                “Very flattering, actually. I think your strength is that of legends, along with your patience.” She laughed again, warm as before, and turned her gaze to Thorin.

                “I’ve heard similar things of you, Master Baggins; my brother is quite besotted with you. For weeks, day in and day out, all I’ve heard is your name and your feats. Given the way he speaks, one would almost think that you were the fiercest warrior in the company.” I chuckled, turning to look at him and finding his cheeks faintly pink, and prepared to speak in response when Fili and Kili both took their mother by the arms.

                “But he was, mother!” Kili said, grinning.

                “Oh, yes! You should’ve seen him when the pale orc knocked Thorin down the first time!” Fili continued.

                “He rushed from the tree, faster than any of us could hope to be, and started waving that little letter opener of his about.”

                “And then, in the final battle, he did much the same thing, except then he had only a dagger and a mithril coat. He’s just as brave as any dwarf.”

                “And probably a lot smarter than most.” Well, I supposed it had been a while since any of the dwarves had an opportunity to embarrass me terribly, so perhaps I shouldn’t begrudge them of the opportunity now. Dis arched an eyebrow, eyes still glittering with amusement at the antics of her sons.

                “Oh? And here I thought that hobbits were known more for pretty faces and comfort than battle,” she said, looking more amused as Thorin tugged me a little nearer and her boys frowned.

                “Not this one” Thorin said, quiet, “Though perhaps it’d be best to not make that known. I’d rather not have to suffer suitors day in and day out.” Dis sighed, seeming almost exasperated with all three of them, while Fili, Kili, and Thorin shared a small, secretive smile.

                “You will have to tell the company’s tale eventually, Thorin Oakenshield; your hobbit is returned to you, Erebor is restored, and everyone is healthy. You all have no more excuses to sit amongst yourselves and whisper about it.” She didn’t sound angry, precisely, more simply annoyed and wanting to hear of the dangers her loved ones had faced.

                “Later, perhaps. Bilbo has only just returned, and he has never seen Erebor in its splendor. We must show him around first,” he said, and with that I realized that all the excitement of my entrance had taken away from the sight of how beautiful Erebor really was.

                Like magic, the crumbling hall had been replaced with something any castle would’ve been envious of; the ceiling stretched up forever, arching and curving with a grace one could hardly expect of stone, while gargantuan statues lined the walls. A long, emerald colored rug stretched from the door down, towards what I assumed was the throne room further inside, but I could see little beyond where I was because of the pillars stretching endlessly towards the roof. Looking closer, I noticed scenes carved into them, most of them faint and probably having been there even when I was here the first time, but too dirty and damaged to see, while a few were stark and new where the pillar had been too damaged to restore them.

                With those words, though, the rest of the company, who’d been waiting almost patiently, flooded forwards and took me into their arms as well, faces bright and open and so joyful that I almost wanted the moment to never end. Their voices clamored over one another, alternating between well wishes and glad your backs and places I ought to be taken to see first. I could never deny how awfully I’d missed the noise and the activity; I’d never imagined, before meeting them, that I could possibly think that the Shire was too quiet. If I’d doubted at all that this was where I was meant to be now, that one moment overcame the doubt, and I smiled, free and open and happier than I’d been likely since I’d left. Finally, though, I had to settle them, though it was more because of my growling stomach than anything. After all, the state of meals on the quest was, perhaps, one of the only things I most definitely didn’t miss after returning to Bag End, and the feast they’d prepared smelled absolutely marvelous.

* * *

 

                After the meal, which was precisely as marvelous as it smelled, came the touring, and admittedly, I found myself in awe at the scale of it all. It truly was a kingdom in a mountain, sprawling and beautiful, and I couldn’t imagine how Thorin, who’d gotten so turned around in the relative simplicity of the Shire, could navigate it all with such ease. I certainly couldn’t see myself as ever becoming adept at it, in any case, though the dwarves helped as much as they could, pointing out landmarks to help me in case I ever wandered alone and got myself lost. Gradually, however, they dropped off, citing tiredness or other responsibilities until only Thorin and myself were left.

                The wandering was pleasant, though, and I liked seeing how soft Thorin’s face was when he spoke of it all, the happiness in his eyes when he settled his hands on the stone walls; this was the reason I’d fought so hard for the dwarves. This was the Thorin I’d wanted back so badly, the Thorin who ignored the treasury doors as if they weren’t even there, too focused on caverns large as ballrooms and statues so intricate that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see them breath to care about the gold.

                “It’s gorgeous,” I whispered upon our return to the main hall. His smile was just as kind as when he spoke of Erebor, his hand on my cheek just as gentle as his hand on the walls.

                “More so for your return. I would… Bilbo, I’ve something to ask you.” I settled my own hand over his, stepping nearer and feeling the warmth pouring from him.

                “I’ll answer if I can,” I offered, and he nodded, looking faintly nervous.

                “I would be very honored if you would become king consort, Bilbo. I know that I have no right to ask again after all that has happened, and I thought to wait a bit longer, but now that I’ve seen you again… I will not argue if you tell me no, but-,” I cut him off with a kiss, quick and firm, and threw my arms about him. He went stiff for but a moment, then relaxed and returned the gesture. I pulled away slowly.

                “Thorin, I love you. Even still, I don’t think I’m fit to help you rule; I know nothing of it, and I don’t expect your kingdom would look too kindly on a hobbit ruling beside their king. I will be with you, certainly, and would be overjoyed to wed you, but is there truly a need to promote me so highly?” He looked vaguely confused, brow furrowing, head tilting.

                “You told me once that I would rule well and I still am not certain of that, but I took you at your word. Take me at mine that you would be loved by the people, and a great aid in matters of a diplomatic nature. If that’s the only reason why you would not take the position, don’t worry over it, but if you still don’t wish it, I will gladly take your hand alone.” Honestly the assurance didn’t truly surprise me, but still it warmed me some to hear it.

                “Let me think for the night, and ask the others what they think.” He laughed at that, real and open, and I was glad for the sound; I’d missed that laugh more than I’d missed nearly anything, beyond he himself.

                “Do you truly think they’d disagree with the choice? Especially given that Dis was the one who encouraged it, something or another about putting someone sane on the throne.” Even seeing her as I had, kind and laughing, that really did shock me; I’d had no doubts as to her intelligence or to her strength, and to think that she’d suggested something like that.

                “Well, I am beginning to think that your sister’s judgement is perhaps the most trusted in Erebor,” I said, and his mouth twitched slightly, amusement and annoyance warring on his face.

                “Quite true; in fact, I am nearly certain that without you at my side, they shall force her onto the throne instead, and then she will surely kill me, for she told me clearly her opinion of ruling when once I asked her to do it in my stead. Kili inherited it from her, I think.” That I knew; Kili had mentioned to me before his lack of desire to rule when I’d mentioned a bit of confusion as to how he and Fili could stay so close with such a thing as a throne hanging between them, especially given that Kili was but five years younger, and from what I’d seen that was hardly a blink in a dwarven life. I coughed, quiet, looking sideways and away for a moment to gather myself before I fixed my eyes to his again.

                “Then I certainly cannot refuse, for she is the wisest in the mountain, and I would most certainly prefer you breathing.” I almost think that I could have offered him a second Erebor and he wouldn’t have been as happy as he was at that moment. I know for certain that nothing could have felt more flattering, and returned his grip when he pulled me close again.

                “I am glad to hear it. I shall start planning it with the sunrise, if you don’t mind it happening so soon.”

                “I’m as eager as you,” I said, indulging in another sweet, chaste kiss, “I’ve been waiting for you for rather a long time, if you’ll recall.”

                “And I for you, though I will admit that I’m to blame for that. Ah, and I’ve the perfect surprise for Dis and the kingdom; would you mind if, after we wed and you are crowned, Ori read our tale?” It was a lovely thought, and I told him so, though I thought it would be strange to me to hear Ori talk of the story like history even if I knew that was what it would become. We spoke quietly of what we each wanted as we walked; from whether a few hobbits from the Shire could be brought if they wished to come to whether I would be willing to wear dwarven robes for the ceremony. All of it, from the conversation to his hand wrapped loose around mine, felt so perfectly normal, and I don’t think that I would have had it any other way.

* * *

 

                The next morning, I began to think that everything would have been much easier had Thorin and I just called Gandalf and had him marry us in secret, and dealt with the consort issue by simply having me show up one morning with a crown atop my head. Honestly, and I’d thought marriage would be _less_ of a spectacle among dwarves than hobbits, but the moment Thorin and I mentioned the news they were fussing more than Lobelia had during her wedding with Otho!

                “I’ll walk him down the aisle!” Kili called, while Fili cuffed him about the head.

                “No, I will.”

                “Well,” Bofur said, “I think it ought to be me that does that.” I sighed. Thorin, who had already made all of his choices for the wedding party, with Dwalin and Balin being his best men and Gandalf presiding over the ceremony, only stood on the sidelines with them and laughed at my misery. The argument rapidly devolved into a minor fistfight, Fili and Kili attempting to gang up on Bofur before they turned on one another.

                “If you don’t sit down then I shall take Thorin outside and marry him right now, with none of you involved at all!” I was actually shocked that that worked, but I was most definitely not complaining as I squeezed the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger and shook my head at Thorin. “Why in the world do you dwarves have so many jobs for a wedding? It’s much simpler for hobbits; the mayor presides and the whole Shire comes as guests and no one fusses over who gets to stand where and do what because they’re too busy fussing over other things, like which flowers to have and what color things should be.” Thorin didn’t respond to that, but it did obviously draw a thought to his mind.

                “Oh, yes, we will have to pick colors for the decorations and whatnot, perhaps have a new tapestry made with the events of the quest. The color of our robes will have to be chosen first, however; we’ll need them to match.” I stared. He seemed to find the situation very normal. Dori and Ori began their own argument over the best colors to use, and who would be making my robe, though theirs was at least faintly more good-natured.

                “Is every dwarven wedding such trouble or am I only suffering this because you are king?” Thorin actually laughed.

                “I assure you that it’s normal; weddings are blessed events for us simply for the rarity of a union. Ours will be perhaps a bit overblown because of my crown, but only a very little I assure you, and I will try to avoid that whenever I’m able.” I might have protested more had it not been such an obviously important cultural event, and it wasn’t as if he was allowing me nothing of a Shire wedding, for I’d already sent invitations to those in the Shire I thought might like to attend, even Lobelia however it pained me, gotten back RSVPs, and had asked Hamfast to bring a few flowers I thought would be appropriate, so I supposed I could deal with a bit of spectacle.

                “Alright. Well, Fili, Kili, you may both escort me down the aisle, for I’ve an arm for both of you. And you, Bofur, I should like you to be my best man. Dori, Ori, I expect the robe will be done much faster if the both of you work on it, though for the color you’ll have to decide yourselves or with Thorin, for I haven’t the faintest idea of what would be best.” That, at least, pleased Fili, Kili, and Bofur, though apparently it was no help to Dori and Ori, who had obviously already decided to work together on the robe when I wasn’t listening and were arguing solely over colors now. Thorin and I at least managed to share a sigh over that.

                “Bilbo, what color are those flowers you asked that Hamfast fellow to bring?” he asked, and I thought on it for a moment.

                “Most were red, white, and yellow I believe; I asked Hamfast to make whatever sort of arrangement with them he wished, as he’s rather skilled at such things.” Dori and Ori glanced at one another at the words, perfect synchronicity suddenly overcoming their faces as Ori pulled his little sketchbook free and they hunched over it together, taking turns at sketching ideas until at last they settled on one both of them liked. Honestly I’d have agreed to it even if I hated it, but I did actually like it rather a lot. They’d kept it relatively simple, and it was mostly white, though I saw a few accents they seemed to plan to do in soft yellow, and they’d also included a few suggestions of necklaces with red gemstones that they thought would look appropriate with it. I thought, for one glorious moment, that that would be the end of it all, until the rest of the company came about, all of them eager for some sort of role in the wedding, and for once I was thankful that dwarven weddings had so many roles, else I’d have felt awful for not being able to include them all.

                “Bombur, I ask that you be in charge of all the food preparation; you’ll have to ask Bilbo how to make a few hobbit dishes so that his guests are a bit more comfortable. Gloin, I would have you and Nori be in charge of making certain everyone is provided a seat and is escorted to that seat, and perhaps to make certain that no one ends up beside someone they’ve any sort of feud with. Bifur, I ask that you bear my bead before it is given to Bilbo, and Oin, I ask that you bear the crown. I also ask that all of you, should you wish it, speak; I would like everyone in Erebor to know how important you all are to Bilbo and to myself. Ah, and would someone find Dis and tell her that she is the maid of honor? I will not have her going off and trying to avoid being in the wedding.” I smiled, thinking perhaps that that would be the end of it, but I was most definitely wrong.

                The next few weeks were a blur of plans and fittings and decorating and questions, all of them piling atop one another until I could scarcely find myself for them. Honestly the last few days, when tradition stated that Thorin and I both had to be separate and kept away from the room where the wedding would take place, were quite a relief, the only downside being that it was rather lonely being kept from Thorin, who’d been a constant companion through it all, and certainly dull being unable to do anything outside of the wing with my temporary bedroom. The true day of the wedding, however, was perhaps the greatest relief of all.

                Ori came to my door very early in the morning, likely before the sun had even risen, though I had no way to be certain. He held my finished robe in his hand, along with a few other bits and bobs that shimmered in the half-light spilling in from the hall, and smiled so brightly that I felt myself forgiving all the headaches of the recent days. I dragged myself up, shrugging the nightclothes I’d been given away, and Ori giggled quietly, shaking his head.

                “I feel for Dori already; Thorin’s going to be awful to deal with.”

                “Not so bad, I’m sure!” I said, snickering a little myself as Ori helped me into the robe.

                “Oh, no, he’s been an absolute terror every moment you weren’t around! He wants everything to be absolutely perfect, you know; this might be the finest wedding Erebor’s ever seen!” I couldn’t help the fondness that struck me at that; for all Thorin had sometimes joined me in my complaining, I’d had the sneaking suspicion for a while that Thorin was not precisely as opposed to the lavish wedding as he seemed. I smiled to myself while Ori tried to neaten my hair.

                “It’s nice to see you both so happy,” he murmured, giving up on my hair and instead digging through the shining things he’d brought to find a necklace he liked well enough to clasp about my neck. “Thorin especially; I’ve only ever known him with sadness in his heart, and I rooted for you and he the moment I saw how easily you could lift that sadness. After all the troubles we’ve seen… well, it only makes me gladder still that you’ve reached this happy ending.” I swallowed stiffly, fighting tears only to give in when I heard Ori sniffling behind me. When he noticed, we found ourselves caught between laughing and crying, so happy and so amazed that everything had turned out well in the face of all the bleakness that had overwhelmed us.

                It took us a while to settle, and a while longer to make certain we were presentable, and I took in a deep breath as we stepped towards the door. As Ori opened it, I could almost imagine the future opening for me as well. We flashed one another smiles, walking to the door to the wedding hall where I was to wait for Fili and Kili. I heard familiar voices through the door, the voices of the hobbits I’d invited and the voices of a few dwarves I’d met passingly, and Ori offered one last reassuring smile before he slipped inside to find his own place. I felt as if I were waiting hours before Fili and Kili arrived, the both of them dressed very finely themselves and Fili holding a gorgeous bouquet of the flowers I’d asked Hamfast to bring. Had I asked anyone else, I’d have asked how they still looked so fresh after so long a trip, but as it was Hamfast, I attributed it to the famous green thumbs of the Gamgees. He passed them to me as soon as he reached me, confusion blatant on his face.

                “A very angry little hobbit insisted that I give these to you. I told him that Uncle probably wouldn’t be very happy about a strange hobbit giving his fiancé and soon to be husband flowers, but he swore you’d want them,” he said, and Kili nodded.

                “It was really very terrifying; we should keep him for a guard.” I couldn’t restrain my laughter at the thought of Hamfast as a guard of Erebor, though I feared being heard through the door and disturbing whatever was happening on the other side.

                “I asked for them, I promise. They’ve meaning in the Shire, you see; red chrysanthemums for love, daisies for loyalty in love, baby’s breath for innocence, and lily-of-the-valley for humility and return of happiness. It’s a tradition to carry flowers with meaning for the couple in the Shire, so I wished to carry that on. Ah, and Hamfast is a gardener, not a warrior; I don’t expect he’d much care for a change in profession now, especially given that he and his wife have only just borne their first son.” Fili and Kili looked interested in what I said of the Shire, and so I imagined that during the first moment of free time they caught me, I’d be explaining far more, but truly the thought only made me happy. I think they might’ve gone on and started asking, had Kili not had a very sudden and very obvious realization, jerking something from a hidden pocket in his own robe and holding it out to me.

                “Fili and I made this for you to braid into Uncle’s hair when it comes time for that part. We knew you didn’t have one, and we didn’t want you to feel odd, not doing it, and we definitely didn’t want anyone getting any ideas that he was up for grabs after this.” He looked vaguely bashful as I picked it up, turning it in my hand; it really was a pretty thing, bright silver with such detailed engraving that I could scarcely imagine how steady one’s hand would’ve had to be to make it. The thought of the two brothers working on it together… I’d known always that they were close, nearly perfectly in tune with one another, but this, looking as if it had been made by but a single dwarf with steady hand, certainly proved it yet again.

                “It’s not as fine as anything Uncle could make,” Fili said, watching me intently as I gazed at the bead, “but we did make it under mother’s guidance, since she’s as good at the forge as he, and she approved of it.”

                “It’s beautiful; thank you, both of you.” They grinned, and swept me again into their arms, sharing with me a moment of warmth before they started arguing over who would walk at my right side. I think I might’ve smacked them both but good if I hadn’t cared for them so deeply, and might have done it anyway if they didn’t resolve it quickly, deciding that Kili ought to have the honor for his strength when Thorin suffered from his sickness. Music suddenly began to sound on the other side of the door, and Fili and Kili took their respective arms, Kili holding his higher than Fili so that I could hold my flowers straight, backs stiff and proud as the door was opened and they walked me inside.

                I heard a few hobbits murmuring to one another as they watched me walk by, smiling and entirely unable to stop the moment I saw Thorin shifting almost nervously at the front of the room. I only barely restrained myself from running to him, my mind running quick and thrilled and a little scared, as I reached him. I glanced at Fili and Kili, who grinned at one another above my head, and felt as together they shoved me the last few inches into Thorin, who caught me with amusement in his eyes, my flowers getting a bit squished between us. They bowed together, just as they had so very long before when they’d invaded Bag End.

                “Treat him well, Uncle,” Kili said.

                “Indeed, else you’ll have us to trouble you,” Fili continued.

                “For we’re ever at Master Boggins’ service,” the younger brother finished. Thorin nodded once, serious, and raised my hands, one clutching the bead and the other the flowers, to kiss my knuckles before we each turned to Gandalf and the ceremony began. Admittedly, I don’t remember much, my thoughts too consumed with nerves and joy to pay too much attention, but despite my shaking hands I managed to braid the bead I’d been given into Thorin’s hair once he agreed to hold my flowers for me, and I certainly had no trouble managing the kiss that came after his bead was placed into my own hair. The cheering was deafening, but still I noticed but little until Thorin started to sweep me off.

                “Wait a moment,” I said, and he tilted his head.

                “But we’ve got to go to the celebration,” he said, face bright, and I smiled.

                “Just a moment; there’s one last tradition with the flowers,” I said, looking around and already seeing all the unmarried hobbits I’d invited gathering about. “The dwarves can participate as well, if they’d like.” He looked vaguely suspicious, obviously entirely lost.

                “What is it?” he asked.

                “I’ll turn around and throw the bouquet over my head; legend says whoever catches it will be the next to wed.” He still looked confused, but he did call out and say that all the unmarried dwarves who wanted to participate could do so, but ultimately few beyond the unmarried members of the company decided to do it. I grinned, turning around and tossing them as hard as I could over my head, and heard laughter before I turned back around to find Ori clutching at them, face bright and flushed a little pink as his eyes flickered over to Dwalin who stood a few feet away. The warrior’s face was faintly flushed as well, and he too tried to spare Ori a warm glance. I don’t think the rest of the Company noticed, or at least Ori’s brothers didn’t, otherwise they’d have surely been tormenting the poor master-at-arms, and I tried to keep my expression from giving away the fact that I’d noticed as the laughter settled and we all set about going for the party and the crowning, which was most definitely the most uncomfortable portion of the evening.

                Most of that particular ceremony was done in Khudzul, after all, and though a few had mentioned teaching it to me, I had yet not had the opportunity to learn any, so I was quite lost through most of it, and would have surely embarrassed myself more than once if not for Thorin being exceptionally good at making certain I ended up where I was meant to be. I had to admit that the crown was a lovely thing, though, done in silver and looking as thin and delicate as lace, with little acorns and trees and flowers worked expertly into the design. Thorin flushed faintly at my admiring of it as I recalled that he’d been the one to make it, and I kissed him soundly the moment the coronation ended and I was officially king consort. It was an honest struggle to keep it chaste, now; glancing at Thorin when I pulled away, I knew he felt the same.

                Still, I was a hobbit, and no hobbit would dare refuse a party such as the one that began the moment the crown was placed atop my head. Heaps and heaps of food appeared, whilst music began to spill through the hall and many jumped up to dance, Thorin leading me out to the center of the crowd. He held me near and warm, whispering sweet things in my ear as I did the same to him, until Fortinbras asked to cut in, grin quick and wild across his face. Thorin looked half-unwilling until I spoke Fortinbras’ name and he recognized him as my cousin, at which point he handed me over quickly enough, though still not precisely happily.

                I danced so much that night, whether with Thorin or with friends and family from the Shire or the Company, that I was scarcely able to enjoy the food that Bombur had prepared, which was quite the shame as I was nearly certain that that evening’s dinner was perhaps the best he’d ever made. It was a glorious night, more glorious than I ever could’ve dreamt, but still I was glad as it all wound down and I found myself walking with Thorin to his room, which, the moment I managed to get the few things I wanted on his shelves and in his wardrobe, would be mine as well.

                I didn’t expect the desperation he presented me with the moment the door closed behind us, the need as he grabbed me and pressed us firmly together, his lips against mine, hands buried in my hair, teasing the short braid he’d made there. Even still, I didn’t protest, perhaps even pressed closer, my own worries over being away from him for so long, of him discovering that he did not love me, spilling from me into the kiss. He held me tighter, so tightly that I ached, but it was a pleasant sort of ache, one that proved that he was here and that I was too and that we were truly, finally together.

                He pushed at my robes, them falling away easily, and oh, oh, perhaps the dwarves had the right idea with _that_ part of weddings, at least, and I let my own hands find their way to his, him shrugging his shoulders to help me along. I ran my fingers down his chest, over thick, hard muscle, and he shuddered, moving his mouth to my neck, beard scraping at the skin and braids tickling my cheek. His own hands flowed up and down my back, stroking light and easy in sharp contrast to the way he nipped and sucked a mark into my neck.

                “Please, Bilbo,” he whispered between nips, “I need you, please.” The words struck me like a physical blow, turning my knees wobbly and weak so that I had to lean more firmly against him, my own mouth descending to the skin of his chest, licking more than nibbling as he did. I almost forgot he’d spoken that he’d likely want a response, until he spoke again. “Please, let me have you, Bilbo, I shall not do anything until you’ve said it’s alright.” The desperation was more blatant, with those words, dripping from every syllable, and I wished suddenly to see his face.

                “Yes,” I said, the word low and breathy and hardly sounding even to my own ears like my voice, “Yes, you’ve had me nearly since we met, Thorin, I’m yours.” He shivered under my hands, slowly walking us backwards until he dropped onto the bed, me straddling his lap.

                “You give me much,” he murmured, his kisses slowly shifting from my neck to my chest as I was forced to separate my own lips from his skin and replace them instead with hands, petting and exploring his body as I’d once thought I’d never be able to do. “Much I do not deserve, but I am grateful, Bilbo, so grateful, I love you so much.” His voice was barely a rumble, it came from so low in his chest, so base a place, and I sighed at the feel of his mouth descending on one nipple while one of his hands set to teasing the other. I jerked under the touches, eyes falling closed and soft sighs and moans slipping from my lips without consent. My hips set to rolling lightly against his, breeches starting to make me ache just as certainly as his were. Still, he didn’t seem eager to end his teasing, mouth and lips and fingers working at me until my nipples were pebbled and I was desperate for something more, something else.

                He pulled away and I thought for a moment that he’d heed the unspoken need, but instead he only let his breath puff lightly against the wet place, making me shudder in his arms before his mouth descended on the one his hand had focused on. I could’ve screamed; as it stood, I did bury my hands in his long, thick hair, fingers twitching and probably pulling some, but he seemed to not even notice. I rolled my hips more firmly, felt his interest, but still he wouldn’t be deterred, as if he planned only to make me lose my mind with naught but teasing. Knowing him, perhaps he did.

                After a while I felt as if I were floating on the sensation, the soft sounds we each made, the pleasure that was intense and there but not at all enough, and finally, finally I heard him growl, felt him pull away and twist us around so that I was flat on my back and he hovered above me. His lips fell on mine, the kiss wet and clumsier than the others we’d shared but still my hands shuddered in his hair, gooseflesh rising on my skin as he slid down my body, undoing my breeches and sliding them and my smallclothes away, throwing both towards the robes by the door before he did the same to himself and set to kissing down my chest, my belly, towards where I ached and needed him most.

                My hips twitched up, and I saw him flash a grin up at me, mischief in his eyes reminiscent of his nephews, as he lay an arm across my hips and kept up with his teasing, nipping my hips and sucking my thighs, breath wafting over my cock and fingers trailing feather-light over every place his lips caressed until my toes were curling and my hands were clenching into the bedclothes.

                “More,” I managed, feeling almost as if it were the only word I knew, and at least he was not cruel, for he took me into his mouth at last. “Yes,” I sighed again, hands fisting more tightly in his hair as he worked over me expertly until he had me nearly thrashing beneath him, body drawing taut with my need to come, but he only pulled away at the last moment, his hand curling about the base of my cock to stop the pleasure ending. I shuddered and twitched beneath him, my eyes lust-hazy and lidded as he slid his fingers into his sinful mouth, wetting them thoroughly before they trailed down again, one pressing slowly, so very slowly, inside of me. I felt as if I needed it, just as much as air or water or food, and pressed back against him, my body moving with his hand until at last his finger stroked something that made the other pleasures I’d felt pale in comparison. I cried out, his hand around my cock tightening further to keep me from coming still, and I moved against him harder, somehow even more desperately, words even I could barely understand spilling from my lips.

                Another finger slid inside, him stretching them wide carefully, slowly as he’d done everything else, obviously worried over hurting me, but I was so far gone by then that I hardly cared, that I wanted nothing more than for him to be inside me. I tried to force him to go faster, wriggling my hips and pressing against him more firmly, but he kept to his own pace even still, cool and controlled and steady, his breath coming ever-harsher the more time that passed. I still begged for more, for him, but still he insisted on stretching me; the third finger, when it finally appeared, was better but still nowhere near enough and I tried to tell him so but couldn’t string together the words. When, finally, he heeded my pleas and the fingers slid free to be replaced by a blunt, thick pressure, I could’ve wept with the joy of it.

                He pressed into me slowly, made me feel every inch of him, and even as thoroughly as he’d stretched me it ached a little but still I barely noticed simply because of the intensity of it, the need that filled me. He shook above me, arm he was using to hold himself up quivering until at last he was pressed fully inside of me and I thought that I was in heaven. He moved slowly at first, too slowly when I needed so much more, and with my words of encouragement he sped up, thrusting harder, faster within me. I cried out, pushing back just as fervently, the same desire filling us both as we moved, settling quickly into a rhythm. It was done far too quickly for me, the moment he struck the place within me that made me see stars, my body clenching around him as he worked me through it, my lips parted and jaw lax as he kissed me again, sweeter now but no less avid, no less amorous.

                With both hands to support him, he thrust harder but slower, savoring the moment, eyes slipping closed as I too tried my best to bring him pleasure as well, though I was tired and sated and quite muzzy-feeling, until at last with one final deep, long thrust within me, he came, noise like a roar spilling from his throat as he nearly fell atop me but rolled aside at the last moment to keep from crushing me. I wrapped my arms about him, snuggling against him with a smile upon my face, whispering words of love that he returned as we curled into one another. I certainly could not have imagined a better day, but those that followed were most definitely nothing to shake a stick at either.

* * *

 

                The next days and the next years were all I could have imagined, filled with all the love I’d long thought I would never have, though ruling at Thorin’s side really was incredibly strange, as was all the attention and the adoration I got from the people. I found myself looking back often on how I’d gotten here, all the sorrows and the hardships along with the joys and the triumphs, and could never think of anything to make it better. I spared a smile to Thorin, my own nephew Frodo upon my knee, the company settled about us and chatting quietly, and turned to give him a sound kiss that he returned with equal vigor. No, I decided, I would most definitely not change one single thing.  


End file.
